Enemy Within
by NancyBG-OldMaidWhovian
Summary: Something is making the people of Great Britain ill, but when Wilf catches it, the Doctor decides to start making housecalls. NOTE: due to circumstances beyond my control, Chap. 13 was chap. 7. This has since been fixed. Sorry. Story now completed.
1. Chapter 1

Doctor Who: Enemy Within

by Nancy G.

Chapter 1

Donna was sitting on a bar stool at a shady outdoor cabana, sipping a cold fruity drink with an umbrella in it. She was watching the Doctor. Donna couldn't help but laugh, seeing the Doctor sitting astride the donkacorn. It was a creature which looked like a large, sturdy donkey. Except this one was pink with a black mane and tail, and had glittery hooves and a silver horn growing out of its forehead.

Grinning with delight, the Doctor's laughed. His burgundy trainers all but trailed the ground behind him, as the animal trotted down the beach, it's short-legged alien handler struggling to keep up, clinging to the donkacorn's elaborate headcollar,. A gaggle of meter high, pot-bellied, purple-skinned holiday makers, waiting their turn in the queue for a ride, boggled at the sight. Donna thought that the ride vendor should probably hire the Doctor as an attraction, and sell tickets.

Without warning, Donna's mobile rang. She frowned, wondering who could be calling her way out here. The Doctor had taken her to the seaside on a small earth-like planet called, of all things, Martianvilla. She could never get over the wonder that she could get phone calls hundreds, or even thousands of years into the future—or in the past, in any part of the universe. Sighing, she recognized the number and pressed '_Send_.'

"Hello?...Mum? Is that really you?" Donna said. She made a face and pulled the phone away from her ear, as her mum, Sylvia, scolded her for asking such a question.

Thanking the man for the ride, the Doctor came bounding over to Donna, happy as a child who'd been told he could have all the ice cream he ever wanted. Then the Doctor saw the look on Donna's face.

"What's wrong?" He asked her, jamming his hands into the pockets of his blue trousers, looking concerned.

"It's mum. She just rang me up to let me know granddad's ill. He's in hospital. Some kind of mysterious illness that's been going around." Donna told him.

"Guess I'd better take you home then" The Doctor said sympathetically. "I mean, if that's what you want."

Donna nodded and without another word, they headed back to the TARDIS. They went inside and the Doctor immediately programmed Chiswick into the navigational circuits. As the central column lit up and began to move up and down in flight, the Doctor stared at Donna.

"Hold on a minute. Did you say, "mysterious illness"?" He asked, suddenly curious.

"_...and now for your Total Radio news on the hour. Further reports of a mysterious flu-like illness are coming in from Cardiff, Dublin, Glasgow and Edinburgh. This is in addition to recent reports of people contracting the sickness in the cities of Manchester, Liverpool and Birmingham. The illness first appeared in London five weeks ago, and some are already calling this the London flu. So far, forty-one deaths have been linked to the this illness, which is thought to be some sort of new virus, with victims ranging in age between twelve and ninety-seven..._

…_.The NHS and other health officials are urging the public not to panic, and say that they are doing everything they can to halt the spread of the illness, which they have named the L-378 virus. Many members of Parliament are beginning to express their concern over the economic impact of this flu outbreak, as an increasing number of workers and shoppers are choosing to remain at home, for fear of becoming ill themselves..._

…_In related news, Toxilco Pharmaceuticals founder John Huxley, in a press conference yesterday, made the claim that his company has allegedly developed an effective vaccine for the L-378 virus. However, in a statement issued shortly after Huxley's announcement, MP Mark Seacourt has cautioned government officials against rushing their approval of the vaccine, until safety concerns could be addressed, and proper research conducted. He cited concern over the speed with with this vaccine was developed, and questioned Huxley's test results...In other news this morning, a lorry rollover on the M-4, just before the exit for..._

Maureen turned off the car radio. Going down the M-4, she glanced at her two children in the rear view mirror. The two boys where in the back seat. Her ten year old was preoccupied with a video game. Her thirteen year old was miming hip-hop moves, while listening to music on his I-pod. What if they they could get a vaccination? She thought to herself. Would they be completely immune? Was this new vaccine safe? Maybe she should get the shot first, just to be sure. Or did that sound too over-protective?

There was a long tailback up ahead. Maureen gave a low groan of frustration. They were going to be late for gran's birthday party. She thought about having the kids stay with gran out in the country for a while, until this London flu thing died down. But what about them missing school? As each lane of traffic on her side of the motorway slowly ground to a halt, Maureen sighed and pressed her forehead against the steering wheel. It was all so confusing and stressful. She wished the government would do something besides witter on about safety and economics.

One of the House of Common's newest MP's, Mark Seacourt, parked his car on the street. Running late, as usual. Finding a parking space in this part of town wasn't easy. He sat and watched passing traffic without really seeing it, deep in thought. The middle aged man was wearing an expensively tailored dark business suit, having come from an emergency meeting with his staff and some high government officials. They'd just spent the better part of the afternoon, ironing out details on how best his office should handle calls from the public in regards to the flu epidemic.

Turning off the engine, he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Mark stared at the business card in his hand. The address was for a posh new tower of flats near Canary Wharf.

When the lift let him off at the top floor of the building, Mark boggled, feeling suddenly discombobulated. The lift doors closed soundlessly, leaving him all alone in a deserted hall. There were no doors. There were no windows. All he saw before him was a cold, sterile hallway. White ceiling, floors and walls, with no signs, art prints or even so much as a potted plant, to break the monotony. As he turned to press the call button to go back down the lift, Mark frowned. There was no button. He shook his head. But...there had to be. He started to walk away, turned, went back, looked around again, hoping maybe he'd missed seeing it. The lift doors were there, but there seemed to be no way to open them. He was trapped.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Hello? Hello, is anybody there?" Mark called out, looking up and down the barren white hall. No one answered. His voice echoed back to him in the empty space. "Look, if this is someone taking the mickey out of me, haha. Very funny. Now, I think this joke's gone on long enough. I'm a very busy man..."

Mark's voice trailed off as the lift door abruptly slid open. A very serious looking security guard, armed with a machine gun, was stood there.

"Oh, thank god! I'm afraid I seem to have been the victim of some sort of prank." He told the man, breathing a sigh of relief. "Would you be so kind as to take me down to the lobby?"

"Mr. Huxley is expecting you, sir." The guard said, glowering and pointing towards the wall behind Mark. "He does not like to be kept waiting."

"What...?" Mark said, wondering why the guard was pointing to a solid wall.

Looking behind him, Mark gasped with shock. Where a blank wall had once been, just seconds ago, there was now a pair of elaborate French doors.

"But...how did that...?" He asked, bewildered.

Was this one of those tricks, like that bloke Derren Brown did to celebrities? If it was, Mark wasn't finding it very amusing. He'd canceled a date with his girlfriend for this. He hadn't been able to see her very often, since the flu crisis began. The guard pointed again, silently gesturing for him to go through the doors.

As he stepped up to the curtained doors, they opened wide, reveling a butler in full livery.

"This way, Mr. Seacourt. Mr. Huxley is currently on a conference call, and asks that you wait for him in the lounge." The butler said. "May I pour you a drink while you're waiting, sir?"

"Whiskey, please." Mark said. He needed something to steady his nerves.

The lounge was expansive and tastefully decorated in the modernist style. Wide tinted glass windows looked out over London and the Thames. The butler came back and handed him his drink, silently gliding off somewhere out of sight. Sipping the whiskey, Mark stood in front of a window and looked down on the city, wondering what Huxley had in mind. If it was a bribe, then the man was wasting his time.

In an office in the rear of the flat, John Huxley was standing before his desk, talking on a headset. He stood rigid, with his hands clasped behind his back. Huxley was nearing retirement age, tall and broad, with salt and pepper hair, dressed in a custom made gray suit with a school tie. He was addressing an unseen speaker on the phone.

"...I've told you, everything is going according to schedule. No!...calm down. Listen. We don't want to cause mass panic too soon. Our plans must be nurtured along, if they are to bear the nice, juicy fruit we hope for. We don't want government officials asking too many questions. I already have one them here right now...Oh don't worry about him. I'm taking care of it...I've invited him to dinner..." Huxley gave a cruel-sounding laugh. "...trust me, the processing will begin soon. Have patience. We stand to make quite a profit out of this little venture."

Mark glanced at his watch. It was getting late. Huxley had invited him to dinner, in order to discuss the possibility of releasing the vaccine to the public. Not that Mark was inclined to even think of such a thing at this early stage. He had a few questions to put to this man. Such as how his company could develop a cure for a virus which had only been officially named a week ago. Something smelled rotten at Toxilco Pharmaceuticals.

"Ah, there you are, Mark!" Huxley said loudly, as he breezed into the room.

Deep in thought, Mark jumped, almost spilling his drink. He turned and looked at his host, putting on his best professional smile. Inside Mark was seething, though. The use of his first name without proper introductions first, struck him as being quite ill-mannered and altogether too familiar. It was completely against protocol. If Huxley thought he could so easily busk an MP, he was quite mistaken. Mark took his job far too seriously for that sort of nonsense.

"Cook says to say that dinner will be ready shortly." The uniformed butler announced, coming into the room. "Shall I get you gentlemen anything while you are waiting?"

"Nothing for me, Sampson. How about you, Mark?" Huxley said.

"I'm fine, thank you." Mark replied. As the butler left, he turned to Huxley. "Nice place. But I'm sure you didn't bring me here to show off the décor or to sample the cuisine.. If you'll forgive me for putting it so bluntly. I should tell you, Mr. Huxley, that I didn't appreciate that little trick you pulled in the hallway. Though admittedly, I have no idea how you achieved it You're quite the magician."

"Me? A magician? How very curious. You must have me confused with someone else. I don't even know how to do simple card tricks." Huxley said, gesturing to the sofa. They seated themselves and Huxley spoke earnestly.. "But you're right, Mark. I didn't bring you here this evening only to invite you to dinner. I want,to tell you more about the vaccine my company has developed. Think of the lives it could save!"

"Only after it has been properly tested!" Mark insisted stubbornly. "Even you must admit, it's far too soon to try it out on the general population. The side effects could be worse than the cure. Worse case scenario, giving this vaccine could kill more people than if they caught it on their own."

"What if I tested it on you?" Huxley suggested smoothly.

"On me!" Mark gave a slight laugh. "Surely you're not serious!"

"As it happens, yes, I am." Huxley said, his smile slipping ever so slightly. "Normally of course, we get our test subjects from the dregs of society. People no one would miss and whom haven't the social standing to have their complaints taken seriously. Not by anyone that matters, at any rate. You know. People living rough, immigrants, unemployed single mothers, drug addicts, that sort of thing."

"But...that's monstrous!" Mark exclaimed, shocked.

"I should think you and your party would approve." Huxley said, leaning back in his chair, seemingly genuinely surprised by the MP's attitude. "Aren't your supporters always going on in the papers about how much they hate anyone who is on the dole? This is one way to make these people earn their keep. And, if some of them happen to die, so much the better. That's less of a burden on the taxpayers. Less benefits the government has to provide"

"How dare you presume that I wouldn't care about these people!" Mark blustered. "They're human beings, not cattle!"

"Ah. But in today's world, cattle are more valuable to some. They can at least show a profit when they die. Then, can I assume that since you appear to value the poorer classes, you would have no objection on our company testing the vaccine on you and other MP's?" Huxley said.

"I...I didn't say that." Mark said, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Come now!" Huxley spread his hands. "We have to test it on someone in order to prove that it is safe and effective. You could use this an example to show the whole of Great Britain, that you and your party truly care about their wellbeing."

"Yes, well..." Mark cleared his throat uncomfortably, fingering the knot in his tie. "I suppose, when you put it that way..."

"Excellent!" Huxley snapped his fingers. Almost immediately the burly guard with the machine gun appeared, along with Sampson, the butler. "No sense in putting off tomorrow, what can be done tonight. Eh, Mark?"

Without warning, the security guard moved behind the sofa. Swiftly reaching from behind, the guard pinned the MP's arms to his side. Sampson came forward. He was holding a tray with an injection gun resting on it. Alongside, was a vial of blue liquid.

"What...what are you doing? Let me go!" Mark cried out.

"Sorry. No, I can't." Huxley said calmly, taking the injection gun from the butler, and slipping the vial into it. "You see, I did invite you to dinner. But not as my guest."

"I don't understand...please...let me go...whatever you want...I'll see that you get it. You don't have to do this..." Mark said. His eyes were wide and his face grew pale. He began shivering uncontrollably with fear.

Suddenly, Huxley wasn't there anymore. Something else was stood there, towering over him. A thing like he'd never seen before. Mark thought he was hallucinating. Maybe it was something the butler put in his drink. He stared open mouthed at the thing which had suddenly appeared before his unbelieving eyes.

"What the hell is that? Is this another one of your practical jokes?" He asked, looking up at the horror he saw before him, desperately hoping he was right, that this would all turn out to be Huxley's twisted idea of a party game.

Putting down the tray, the butler Sampson now stood by holding a large, wide silver bowl.

"You aren't invited to dinner, my dear man. You _are_ dinner. The main course, actually. My people find you humans ever so delicious. You're the hottest new culinary trend." The creature grinned. With that, he plunged the injector into Mark's arm.

"No...this can't be...please...what's happening to me...?" Mark's scared, bewildered voice trailed off into a terrible scream. His body began liquidate, pooling like quicksilver. As the guard released the body, the butler stepped forward, holding the bowl under Mark's feet. In seconds, the bowl was filled with a creamy goo. All that was left of MP Mark Seacourt.

"Oh aye-aye." Wilf said, beaming with pleasure as Donna and the Doctor peered through the hospital curtains. "Look what the cat dragged in. How are you, sweetheart?"

"Is mum around?" Donna asked warily.

"Nah. It's her ladies lunch day. I convinced her I was well enough to be left on my own for a few hours." Wilf told her. "Hello, Doctor!" he grinned, "How're things. You know. Up there." He asked, pointing a finger at the ceiling.

Just as Wilf spoke, a nurse bustled in. Excusing herself, she moved over to Wilf's bedside and stuck a thermometer in his mouth.

"You mean in the maternity ward?" The Doctor said, blowing out his cheeks. "Erm..."

"It's his day off." Donna interjected. "He wanted to go play golf. But I made him come here for a visit. Isn't that right, Doctor...Smith?"

"Er-yeah. Though actually, I prefer snooker to-ooaf!." The Doctor exhaled, as Donna gave him an elbow in the ribs. "Yes. Right. Golf." He nodded, tugging on his ear. "I do love a round of golf on my day off. From the hospital. Delivering...babies. Can't keep me away from the course." So saying, he stretched out his arms and performed a mock golf swing. Nearly hitting the nurse in the head with his hands. "Oh. Sorry."

"Doctors..." the nurse muttered crossly, as she hustled off to see to the next patient.

"Are you OK, gramps?" Donna asked softly, her concern clearly reflected on her face.

"Yeah. I'm fine, Donna. They say I might go home in a few days." He suddenly broke out into a hacking cough.

The Doctor poured Wilf a glass of water and handed it to him. Looking carefully around, he pulled out his sonic screwdriver. It's tip glowed a soft blue, and it gave off a low hum, as the Doctor played it over Wilf's body. He snapped it off and checked the readings. What he saw there made his eyebrows knit together in puzzlement. Donna had her back to him, helping Wilf sit up, and didn't notice.

"Wilf, what are they saying about this illness? What's so mysterious about it?" The Doctor asked.

"No one knows where it came from, do they?" Wilf responded. "Five, six, weeks ago, nothing. Everything's fine. Now, people getting sick, some dying, in every major city in the country." He coughed. "And that's the other odd thing. It's only been reported in the cities. No a single report of illness anywhere else. Not even the suburbs. Just the major cities. And if there's been any cases in the less populated areas, no one's saying so. I'm telling you, Doctor," Wilf added, lowering his voice, "I bet you a month Sunday roasts of it's them aliens again."

"You may be right, Wilf." The Doctor said, putting away his sonic. "And if you are, you're all in big trouble."

"Not as much trouble as you are in, mister." Came an angry woman's voice from behind the Doctor.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"What's _he_ doing here?" Sylvia asked her daughter. She'd come through the hospital curtains surrounding Wilf's bed, carrying a bag of grapes and and some astronomy magazines. "You and that Doctor of yours." she said, as if the Doctor wasn't standing right in front of her. The Doctor shifted his feet uncomfortably and suddenly looked as if he'd wished he'd stayed in the TARDIS. "Just have to tote him along, wherever you go." she demanded. "What are you? Joined at the hip like Siamese twins?"

"Mum, don't." Donna said, "Not here. I asked him to come. The Doctor's very fond of gramps." she told her mother. "Aren't you?" She asked him.

The Doctor flashed a warm smile at Wilf, and nodded his head. Wilf grinned, and as soon as Sylvia cast her eyes elsewhere, he slipped the Doctor a conspiratorial wink. Slipping on his eyeglasses, the Doctor got out his stethoscope. Warming it between his hands, he lifted Wilf's pyjama top and listened to his chest. Pocketing the instrument, he then walked down to the end of the bed, and picked up the patient medical chart which was clipped there. Reading the chart, the Doctor frowned. Biting his lip thoughtfully he looked up at Wilf.

"When did you first notice that you became ill?" The Doctor asked.

"Oh, don't listen to _him_, Dad. What does _he_ know? Like _he'_s a real Doctor." Sylvia nagged.

"I'll tell you what, mum. That man there," Donna said defensively, pointing at the Doctor's back, "he probably knows more about human medicine than any doctor here on Earth. If anyone can help us, he can."

"I first noticed a bit of a sore throat two days ago. Oh, and a burning sensation in my chest. When I was walking back home from the petrol station up the road." Wilf replied, then he turned away, and gave in to a bout of coughing. Donna poured him a cup of water from a pitcher on his bedside table.

"He was after those pork pies again. That's what he was doing. Always said those things would make you sick one of these days, dad." Sylvia interjected.

"Thank you sweetheart." He said to Donna, before addressing the Doctor again. "Then, a few hours later, I had a bit of a funny turn." Wilf continued when he'd caught his breath, choosing to ignore Sylvia's remarks. "Next thing you know, I'm flat on me back, being rushed to A & E in an ambulance. My memory's all kinda' fuzzy 'round about that time, Doctor. I'm not really sure what happened, 'till I woke up in this here bed."

"Wait a minute." Donna said. "If this thing is as contagious as they say, why aren't we being issued with hospital gowns and face masks? Why isn't this some kind of isolation ward?"

"Good question." The Doctor said, nodding. "I like good questions. Bad questions are a waste of time. Like, when people stand right in front of a pub's menu board and then ask what they're serving for lunch." Turning to look at Sylvia, the Doctor asked, "I'm guessing there must be reports of this on the news. Has anyone said what they think may have originated? What the cause is?"

"You mean, like chickens in Mexico with that bird flu epidemic?" Donna suggested.

"No." Sylvia shrugged. "Nothing like that. Only thing is, people say it first appeared here in London. That's why they're calling it the London flu. There's rumours, of course. People saying it may have been brought in by some passenger at Heathrow. Others think it may have come into the country on a ship, or on the tube. No one seems to know anything for certain. I even saw one of those tabloid headlines at the news agent's the other day, suggesting that it's germ warfare by some terrorist organization!"

"Oh come on, mum! As if!" Donna snorted. "It's probably merely some airborne illness that we've lost our immunity to. You know, all those antibiotics and cold medications we take."

"I bet it's them aliens again!" Wilf exclaimed, starting to shake his fist, before he remembered that the back of his hand was attached to an IV needle and intravenous tube.. Putting down his arm, he immediately shot the Doctor a sheepish look of apology.

The Doctor smiled to signal that he didn't take offense. Putting his glasses back in his suit pocket, the Doctor crouched down by Wilf's bedside.

"Don't worry, Wilf. Donna and I will get this sorted.. Trust me." The Doctor told him, compassion filling his voice.

Then the Doctor froze. His brow knitted together, as if he was puzzled about something. His eyes suddenly lit up, and the Doctor stood suddenly, nearly knocking over the water pitcher on the bedside table. Both Donna and her mother had to step back quickly, to avoid having their toes being trampled on.."

"Whatever is he on about?" An alarmed Sylvia asked Donna. "Is he having some sort of fit or something?"

"He's fine, mum." Donna reassured her. "He's thinking. That's what the Doctor's best at. 'Cos when he finds the answer, he's almost always right."

"Think, think, think, Doctor" he muttered, pacing back and forth, as much as he could in the confined space. The Doctor's hands tore at his hair, as his mind worked furiously. "Sudden, unexplained illness, probably airborne." He stopped and looked at Donna's granddad, staring intently at his face. "Wilf. Before you went to the petrol station that day. How did you feel?" He asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. I felt the same as I always did." Wilf answered.

"So, until you walked home, you had no symptoms whatsoever?" The Doctor asked.

"Yeah, fine, like I said." Wilf confirmed.

"Tell me," The Doctor inquired, "Did you notice anything unusual? Any odd smells, freak weather, strange clouds, low flying planes, someone looking or behaving differently? Anything at all, no matter how insignificant you think it may be?"

"What is it, Doctor?" Donna asked him. "You think someone may be deliberately spreading this illness?

"That's just silly. Who would do something like that?" Sylvia told her dismissively.

"Sorry, Doctor. I don't remember anything out of the ordinary..." Wilf said. Donna noticed that he looked tired. She was about to suggest they go, when he touched the Doctor's sleeve, "Hang on. It's probably nothing. But, there was this jet, see? One of them little private one's. Like those rock 'n roll stars and big executives use. It was flying overhead, much lower than they normally do. Didn't think much of it, until now." He paused, sighed. "Meh. "Never mind me. I'm probably wasting your time."

"Yeah..." The Doctor said, scratching his jaw. A sharp nudge by Donna's elbow told him his manners were off again. "I mean, thanks, Wilf. You've been very helpful." He motioned to Donna, and gave her granddad an encouraging grin. "I think we'll be getting along now. Let you get some rest. Don't worry. You'll be star-gazing on your hill again, before you know it."

Donna paused by Wilf's bedside, taking his hand in hers. She smiled down at him, and her granddad saw the tiny bit of fear in her eyes. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one. He didn't want her to even think about that sort of thing.

"It'll be alright, sweetheart." He told her, squeezing her hand. "You go with the Doctor. We both know that if anyone can sort this, he can. Don't you worry about me. I'll be fine. Your mum will see to that."

"Yes. I will. I mean, _someone_ has to stay here and look after him. Heaven knows when the NHS will get 'round to putting on extra staff here, and start taking this flu thing more seriously." Sylvia said, casting a genuinely worried look in Wilf's direction. "These doctor's today, Donna. What do they know? You can count yourself lucky if you can even find one when you need him. More worried about their golf scores than their patients. Stockbrokers with stethoscopes, that's all they are...and don't get me started on the nurses..." The Doctor was already out the door of the ward, and Donna wasn't far behind him, still hearing her mum's complaints, apparently directed at Wilf's nurse, now.

As they left the hospital, the Doctor and Donna turned the corner and walked towards the corner of a car park, where he'd left the TARDIS. The late afternoon sun shone bright and clear. The Doctor told her he was going to cobble together some equipment, so he could run a few air quality tests. Donna shook her head when he suggested she go for a nosh somewhere, rather than hang about watching him work. She shook her head and told him she wasn't feeling very hungry.

Donna decided to go for a walk. Standing in the doorway, the Doctor watched her back as she slowly walked away. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he let out a big sigh of resignation. He didn't want his friend to be on her own when she was feeling so upset. Deciding the tests could wait for a bit, the Doctor trotted to catch up to her.

"Do you mind if I join you, Ms. Noble?" He asked, strolling alongside her. The Doctor had long since learned never to call her 'Miss'. Offering her his hand, he said, "Lovely day for a walk in the park, don't you think?"

"I thought you were going to work in the TARDIS?" she asked him.

"Think better in the open air, me." He shrugged.

"You just don't want me to be on my own." Donna said.

"Actually," The Doctor pondered, "I think it's the other way around. I also think better with a friend along. Two heads are better than one, and all that. Well, unless you've already have two heads. Then that saying would probably be redundant."

"Do you always tell these little fibs to your friends?" Donna chided him good naturedly.

"Nah. Only to my best best friends." The Doctor said, grinning.

"I hate hospitals. I felt so helpless, seeing him lying there." Donna admitted.

"I know, Donna. And I promise. I'm going to do everything I can to help." He said.

But deep inside, the Doctor wasn't as positive as he sounded. Human ailments could be so complicated. And, he had also to cope with, was the temptation of going into the future and bringing back a cure for Wilf. What the Doctor was grateful for, was the fact that Donna knew this, and yet didn't ask him to do it. That made her very special in his eyes.

The pair of them walked along in companionable silence for a few minutes, each occupied with their own thoughts. Without warning, a pack of screaming boys on bicycles came tearing by, almost running them over. Donna added a few yells of her own at the kids, regarding their fate if she ever got hold of their mums.

Then, a few moments later, a shabbily dressed intoxicated couple came walking past, having a loud argument about who picked the wrong dog in some race. As she and the Doctor walked past a park bench, a man in a business suit was shouting into his mobile, apparently upset about some dodgy stocks he'd been sold. As they passed the angry investor, Donna looked up as a jet roared overhead, winging its way to parts unknown.

"So much for a quiet stroll in the park." She joked, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, well. Can't have everything your way. Think about how spoiled you'd get. You'd never be truly happy." The Doctor smiled. He too, had glanced up at the jet, which was now only a dull roar in the distance, leaving behind nothing but a twin pair of billowing white contrails against the blue sky. The Doctor stopped abruptly.

"Contrails!" He shouted, making an elderly woman walking a dog, stop and stare at him with a cautious eye.

"What about them?" Donna asked.

"We've got to go back. I need to speak to Wilf again." The Doctor said, not answering the question.

Turning on his heel, he jogged back towards the hospital. Donna raised an eyebrow, shook her head, and followed him.

"One thing, traveling with you." She said, catching up to him. "I don't need to pay for any health club memberships. I get all my exercise for free."

Outside a secure government office, Mr. Huxley was greeted by a prim, efficient looking executive secretary. She escorted him to a door, and announcing Huxley to the Deputy Prime Minister.

"I was rather under the impression that I was to meet with the Prime Minister today." Huxley said, shaking the man's hand.

"The Prime Minister has been called away on urgent business." the man told him coldly, after asking Huxley to take a seat. "I'm afraid you'll have to deal with me, in regards to the matter of whether or not our government is willing to approve this untested vaccine."

"Ah yes. The London flu, I believe they're calling it. I rather like that. Sounds much more personal than the _L-378 virus_." He paused, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs comfortably. "Tell me, has the Prime Minister died yet?" Huxley asked casually.

"What! That's...that remark was totally inappropriate, Mr. Huxley!" The man said, with a shocked expression.

"The Prime Minister contracted the flu yesterday, and is now listed in serious condition at an undisclosed private hospital. He's dying, Deputy Prime Minister. And I alone can keep him alive. Yet, I can do more than that." Huxley said with a knowing, sly voice. He leaned forward. "What if I guaranteed that all of you here in Downing Street, and whomever other people your government chooses-up to a point of course, would live? What if I could promise that they and their families would be completely safe from this flu epidemic?"

"Even if, hypothetically speaking, what you suggest about the Prime Minister were true, how could you possibly promise us something like that?" The Deputy Prime Minister asked, suddenly nervous. Either the man sitting in front of him was completely mad, or this was beginning to sound like a particularly nasty terrorist threat.

"Because, my dear fellow," Huxley said, reaching across the desk and picking up a few chocolate Smarties from out of a cut crystal dish, "while my..._associates_ developed the sickness, I was busy creating the cure. Win-win situation, as far as we're concerned. And without my vaccine to cure them and to give them immunity, everyone in Great Britain will die within the next sixty days. Including every member of your precious government. Even Her Majesty. And her little dogs, too." Huxley gave a satisfied chuckle before popping the candy in his mouth. "We've got an animal virus waiting in the wings, as well."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

After Sylvia left for home, Wilf settled back onto his pillows with a sigh. He began flipping though one of the magazines she'd left behind. Sleep deprived from the constant poking and prodding by medical staff at all hours of the day and night, he soon drifted off.

It wasn't a restful sleep. For he dreamed of an alien monster chasing the Queen, and of a blue police box that wasn't really a police box at all. In his dream, the monster had stopped chasing the Queen, and was bent on eating him. Wilf felt the vague, almost formless creature breathing down his neck, its fierce jaws dripping saliva on his head. Then the monster was gone. Day became night and he was being chased by the Queen. She was howling and chasing him down a dark alley. Then the Queen latched on to the back of his shirt collar with sharp, pointed teeth. She was growling his name, shaking Wilf like a dog.

"Wilf! Wilf, wake up! I need to talk to you." Came the Doctor's quiet but urgent voice, coming almost as if from another world, as he lightly shook Wilf's shoulder.

"Eh—what? Yeah, Doctor. Good Oh. I'm awake..sort of." He mumbled, cranking open his eyes, the strange and slightly scary dream slowly being erased by reality. Wilf saw the Doctor standing over him, Donna hovering nearby. "What is it? Is something wrong?" He asked, slowly stirring. The Doctor gently put his hand behind Wilf's back and helped him to sit up. Wilf started coughing again.

"There ya' go." The Doctor said, adjusting Wilf's position so he could sit up more comfortably, "All nice and comfy." He looked at the sick man with a worried expression. "Can I get you anything? Some water, maybe?"

"No worries, Doctor. I'm alright." Wilf said, after his cough died down. He cast an anxious glance in Donna's direction.

"Everything is fine, granddad" Donna reassured him, coming over to the beside. "We're sorry to wake you. I know you have to rest, but it's important. The Doctor needs to ask you a question."

"Right then, Doctor." Wilf said, more awake now. "I'm all yours."

"This is kind of sudden, Wilf." The Doctor deadpanned, "You could at least offer to buy me dinner and drinks, first."

Looking cross, Donna nudged the Doctor in the ribs. Wilf was taken aback for a moment. He looked at Donna. She stared at the Doctor, who had adopted an innocent look. Then all three of them burst into laughter, until Wilf began coughing again. The Doctor abruptly looked guilty.

"Sorry Wilf." The Doctor apologized. He glanced carefully around, to be sure no one else in the ward was watching. "Now relax, this won't hurt a bit." Reaching out with the tips of his fingers, the Doctor closed his eyes and lightly touched Wilf's temples. The coughing stopped.

"Dunno' what you did just then, Doctor, but it seems to have done the trick, ta." He said gratefully.

"I blocked the cough centre in your brain. It's only temporary, I'm afraid. Your body wants to cough for a reason. At least you'll have some rest for a few hours, anyway."

"Cheers, Doctor. You needed me for something, you said." Wilf asked, "What can I help you with?"

"It's about that low flying jet you mentioned. Did you notice anything about it? The color? Any markings on the plane?" The Doctor asked.

"It didn't have any writing on it that I could see. I'm sure it probably had some kind of aviation registration on it, they all do. Sorry, Doctor, I don't remember what it was. The plane was white, though, with a blue and silver stripe painted down the side. I do remember that." Wilf told him.

"It's a start, Wilf, thanks." The Doctor told him, scratching the back of his neck. "I might be able to trace the paint scheme to a particular aviation company. If I knew which airport is was coming from or going to, that would narrow things down considerably. What direction was it coming from? Was it landing or taking off?"

"Don't ask me why, but I get the feeling it wasn't coming from Heathrow, Doctor." Wilf shrugged. "We're not usually over the flight path for that, this time of month. Though it's always possible, I suppose. They do change it around from time to time. At a guess, I'd say it was coming from one of them other airports. Or maybe even some private airstrip. Ahh—I wish I could be more certain, Doctor. I used to take Donna to the airport. We used to do some plane spotting. Didn't we sweetheart?"

"I remember. We used to spend hours sitting in your car, drinking hot cocoa and watching those big jets." Donna nodded. She reached over and held his hand. .

"I like planes. But I'm no expert or anything." Wilf said simply.

"Don't worry Wilf," The Doctor said, inwardly smiling at the thought of Donna enjoying sitting around watching planes landing and taking off. Especially since she was always complaining about having to hang around the TARDIS anytime he had to stop and fiddle with something. "I think it's enough for me to go on, for now. What might help, is if you can tell me what the date and time was, when you saw this jet. As close as you can guess. Oh, and the direction it came from. And was going to."

Wilf paused and thought about it. "It was Tuesday afternoon, bit past 14:00, near as I can remember. Came in from the south, then seemed to be swinging towards the northwest."

"We'll be off then, let you get some rest." The Doctor said, waving goodbye.

"You take care of yourself, gramps." Donna said, giving Wilf a peck on the cheek. "I'll be back to see you before you know it." She whispered, "That's the thing about traveling with a Time Lord. I can be gone a whole month, and see you tomorrow."

"I know, Donna. Never mind me." Wilf said affectionately. "You go and look after that Doctor of yours. He'll sort this out and get you home before teatime, I reckon."

"_...and now for the news at five past the hour. Deputy Prime Minister Johnson, and some key members of the prime minister's cabinet are presently meeting here in London, with officials from the NHS and a representative from Toxilco Pharmaceuticals. Sources say that they are to discuss the possible nation-wide distribution of a new vaccine for the recent flu epidemic. The most recent information we've been able to obtain, has this flu outbreak now the cause of some fifty-seven deaths, in seven major cities throughout the United Kingdom in the past three weeks, with the number of deaths virtually doubling overnight. Some sources fear that the prime minister may have been struck down, but a spokeswoman within Number Ten says that the prime minister is perfectly well, and put such speculation down as nothing but 'hysterical rumours.' She also stated that the prime minster would be issuing a formal address to the public, quite soon. So far, this epidemic has not spread to other countries in Europe or abroad. The government has yet to issue any precautionary guidelines, with an unnamed source saying that some officials seem to be dragging their feet, worrying over the cost, in regards to publishing public safety advisories, as well as purchasing and administering the vaccine to every resident of the UK. An unnamed source within the NHS estimates that the final cost could come to well over a billion pounds. We'll have more on this story as information becomes available, so stayed tuned here on BBC One for the latest news updates...In Dartford , an out of control car rolled downhill through a fence and into a back garden, narrowly missing a man weeding his strawberries ..." _

The phone rang. Sylvia turned down the television and answered. It was the hospital. Wilf had abruptly taken a turn for the worse, the nurse told her, and she thought that the family should know, in case they wanted to be there.

"This is outrageous! It is nothing but sheer blackmail!" the MP for Flydell North protested. He was temporary chair the NHS oversight committee, as the present chairman had come down with the flu that very morning. "I ask you." The MP rose up out of his seat and glared up and down at his government counterparts, "Are we so weak, that we give in to gangsters now? Mere thugs posing as corporate executives?" He turned a baleful eye on the pharmaceutical executive, who was seated at the end of the long, highly polished conference table, looking almost bored with the proceedings. "I have news for you" The MP fumed, "We would not have that American car manufacturer dictate government policy on women in the workforce, all those years ago. And nothing has changed. Of late Her Majesty's government has resisted caving in to the demands of banking interests and a certain media mogul. Unlike America, Mr. Huxley, I think you'll find that Great Britain will not allow herself to be coerced or extorted by corporate bullies." The man banged his fist on the table for emphasis.

"No. But you will allow yourselves to be bought and bribed on occasion." Huxley muttered sarcastically, under his breath.

A woman seated nearest to him, Lady Jane...something. Huxley couldn't be bothered to remember her name, apparently overheard his remark. Giving him a reproachful look, she cleared her throat meaningfully. Ignoring her, he pretended to show interest in the speaker. The middle aged, slightly overweight MP from Flydell North had a nervous habit, Huxley absently noted, of constantly turning the wedding ring on his finger.

They were seated in a meeting room adjacent to the Deputy Prime Minister's office. Huxley listened to the man drone on and on. These government lackeys could protest all the liked. He knew they'd decide in his favour, in the end. Her Majesty's government didn't exactly have much choice in the matter. Yet, he decided it was best to let them think otherwise. For now.

Crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair, Huxley sighed. This idiot had to come up for air, sooner or later. Good god, the man was a political whale! Swimming under the surface of all of his clap trap until well past the time for him to shut up. Huxley studied a painting on the wall which was directly behind the MP from Flydell North. It was one of Sir Alfred Munnings' equestrian paintings. It was beautifully executed, but his tastes leaned more towards modern art. Ah well. He supposed he could count this meeting as a good lesson in how to exercise his patience. Most of these insignificant fools would be dead soon, anyway.

The TARDIS wheezed like some overweight heavy smoker trudging up a steep hill. The central column of the control panel clunked up and down in its own shambolic rhythm, bathing Donna and the Doctor's faces with a neon-like glow. Donna watched as the Doctor stabbed at buttons and twisted dials in a seemingly random fashion. He was busy keeping one eye on on the controls, and another on the complex geometrical Galifreyan language, which was scrolling out on the monitor screen.

"How can you be so sure this'll be the right airport?" Donna asked skeptically.

"I Googled it." The Doctor said simply. As if that explained everything.

"You what?" Donna said, raising her eyebrows. "All of this futuristic outer-spacey equipment you have here, and you looked it up on the Internet?"

"Most aliens do." The Doctor shrugged. "Though to be quite honest, I do sort of miss going to the library. Research is a lot more fun and challenging when you actually have to dig up the information the hard way. You were taking your own little journey of discovery. And, when you finally do uncover something, it's like finding buried treasure. Eureka!

"So how come you don't do it anymore?" Donna wondered.

"Well, technically I could take the TARDIS and do some old-fashioned leg work." The Doctor said, reaching over to punch a green button with his thumb. "Digging into old files. Reading books. Asking probing questions. Or, I could save time—which I must do, with your granddad in hospital, go online and look it all up in one go. Except for Ask Yahoo. That's rubbish. They should re-name that, 'Ask Every Idiot On the Planet Then End Up Going To The Library To Look It Up Yourself. I suppose that title would be too long for people with short attention spans, though. They'd read it then forget what they wanted to ask."

"What were _you_ looking for online, then?" Donna asked, trying to steer the Doctor back to the original topic of their conversation.

"Anything which could lead me to that plane that Wilf described. Took me, oh, all of about five minutes." He frowned. "Normally it would've taken less than thirty seconds, but my intergalactic service provider is taking forever today. I really should change from dial up to broadband."

"And? What did you find?" She sighed, still trying to keep the Doctor on track.

"Using the data Wilf gave me, I was able to trace the probable flight path of the jet. Factoring in weather conditions and altitude, of course." The Doctor told her, racing around the console to frantically crank something. "There were no planes listed as having flown over Chiswick on that particular day, within that time frame. Not so much as a police or army helicopter. Which is highly unusual. It's could be that whomever had planned this, knew there'd be no other planes in the area at the time it went through. Though how that can be is anyone's guess."

"You mean someone is deliberately flying a jet over our major cities, dumping some kind of germs on us." Donna stated, shaking her head in disbelief. "Germ warfare. Who would do that? Terrorists?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think so, though. I think the answer is much closer to home than that." The Doctor said.

"Because they know about these flight paths?" Donna asked. "But you yourself looked them up on the Internet."

"I looked up flights that had already been in the air. The people who did this may have had some kind of previous knowledge. And that can only come from inside the local aviation authority. You see, Donna," the Doctor explained, as he jumped back over to stab at some more buttons and glance at the monitor, "all flights over London have to file their flight path information with the local aviation admin. The fact that there is no record of this flight, and, that the jet Wilf reported seeing was flying below the radar, tells me something. I think it very likely that it had come from a private airport. And, that airport is located along the route I'd mapped out of our mystery plane's flight path. Lastly, I tracked down what private jets had that blue and silver colour scheme, and Bob's yer uncle, found our jet.."

"Don't you mean, 'eureka'?" Donna asked with a cheeky grin.

"Nah." The Doctor said. "It's only the Internet."

The central column abruptly ceased its movements. Shrugging into his coat, the Doctor pushed open the door, with Donna following behind him. The TARDIS had landed outside a hanger at a small private air strip. There was no one around. A sharp westerly wind whipped the tails of the Doctor's long coat, and ruffled Donna's hair. There was an office trailer parked between two hangars. A small sign on the door read, _'Nighthawk Aviation, Ltd._'

Going up the wooden steps, the Doctor tried the door. It was locked. He'd just pulled out his sonic to open the door, when a gruff voice shouted, "Halt! Stay right where you are! "

A burly young security guard came striding towards them. He'd come from behind one of the hangars. Donna moved quickly to block the Doctor's hand, which was still holding the sonic key, from the man's view.

"Hey, you two! What do 'ya think you're doin' there?" The guard shouted, coming up to them.

"Erm—standing outside a door trying to get in?" The Doctor answered honestly.

"Don't get smart with me." The guard said.

"Yes, I can see where you might find that a bit of a problem." The Doctor replied.

"Are you tryin' to be funny?" The guard said, "cuz' I ain't laughin'."

"To answer your first question, yes." The Doctor said. "As for the the other thing, have you tried calling the police, to see if anyone's turned in your lost sense of humour?" Donna made no attempt to hide her snicker.

"Listen, mister. I don't have patience with jokers like you. If I have to, I'll cuff you to this stair rail and gag you. So you just stand there and shut up. Got that?" The guard told him.

"Uh—Think so" The Doctor nodded. "No patience. No sense of humour. Handcuffs. Gag. Yeah. 'Bout sums you up."

Stepping back from them, the guard spoke to someone on his communications headset. "I've got 'em both right here. What do ya' want me to do?"

The young man spoke with an American accent. The Doctor thought it sounded like Alabama or Georgia.. The guard was dressed in black combat fatigues, with a black beret on his head and brown military boots. The Doctor decided that this man didn't have much fashion sense, if he was going around wearing brown shoes with basic black. He also noted that the guard wore no insignia of any kind on his uniform. That was curious.

There was a brief pause, as someone gave the guard his orders. Donna looked worriedly at the Doctor. He, on the other hand, was looking at a bulge underneath the man's uniform jacket. With good reason. For the guard suddenly reached under there, and pulled a large handgun from a shoulder holster.

"OK you two. You're coming with me. Move!" He said, pointing the gun at them.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"...This is Trinity Welles reporting for AMN live from our newsroom in Washington. Minutes from now, it is believed that President Obama will be reluctantly issuing a statement cautioning American citizens against travel to Great Britain. This comes in the wake of a deadly new flu epidemic in every major city in the United Kingdom, including cities in Ireland and Scotland. As we reported earlier, our sources say that so far, what is being called the London flu, is responsible for just under a hundred deaths. Republicans in the senate have expressed concerns that this may be a new form of germ warfare by terrorists, and both they and Homeland Security are said to be urging the president to consider an all out ban on anyone coming into this county, from anywhere within the borders of Great Britain. Including Americans returning home to the U.S. from vacations or business trips abroad. In just a moment we will take you over to the president's press conference in the Blue Room of the White House..."

Sylvia was stood there, feeling isolated and helpless, looking through the window of the intensive care room. She stared at Wilf, who was now hooked up to tubes, various machines and a breathing apparatus. Through the glass, Sylvia could vaguely hear the quiet, persistent beeps and clunks of the machines which were helping to keep him alive. He looked almost fragile; gray and drawn, as he fought to breathe. A shadow of the man who was her father. Laid out on the white bed sheet, appearing horribly, like a corpse on a slab.

"Oh dad." She whispered, pressing her hand against the glass, "Not you too. Please. Please don't go. I need you. Donna needs you. I...I love you, dad."

The Doctor and Donna were taken to a side door of one of the hangars. The guard opened it and silently gestured with his gun that they were to go through. Inside, the hanger was brightly lit. A private jet, matching the description of the one Wilf gave them, stood alone in the centre of the floor. The overhead lights gleamed against it's shiny white surface. A set of airline steps led up to an open passenger door.

"Alright you two, get in." The Guard said, still menacing them with his revolver. "The boss wants to meet you."

"In where?" Donna asked.

"The plane, boss, the plane!" The Doctor said, pointing at the jet and mimicking a character from an old American television series. "I always wanted to do that." He smiled, pleased with himself.

The guard was less than amused. He roughly shoved the Doctor forward, dragging Donna along by the arm, up the metal steps. "I said get in there!" He shouted.

"Ow!" Donna protested, as he pulled her arm too hard. "Watch it, mister. Or your next job will be singing in a boy's choir."

.

The Doctor turned abruptly and faced the guard, his face no longer holding any hint of amusement in it. Even though he made no aggressive moves, there was a hint of dark menace to his eyes, which made the guard actually back off a step.

"Let me give you a word of advice. Don't hurt my friend." The Doctor quietly told him."Oh. And I think an apology is in order."

"I don't have to..." the guard snarled.

"He's right, Billy Bob. Apologize to the lady." Came a smooth, cultured female voice from the doorway of the jet. "That is, if you want to keep your job...and certain other things."

It was an older, aristocratic looking woman, dressed in a smart business suit. She smiled at the Doctor and Donna. "I'm sorry about all of that. I'm afraid our young man is nothing but a frustrated commando reject. He was trained by some American para-military organization. Tends to get a bit carried away . However, he' is usually quite good at intimidating people, so I keep him around. I did notice, that he doesn't seem to have that effect on you two. How terribly fascinating. I think I should get to know you better."

A clearly unhappy Billy Bob tugged on his hat and said stiffly, "Sorry, ma'am."

She gestured to the open door. "Please, won't you join me? Billy Bob," She addressed the scowling

guard. "You can stand down. I'm perfectly safe. Go...clean your gun or something. And see to it that we're not disturbed."

The woman had them sit at the back of the plane, on a set of comfortable chairs which were grouped around a small table. Playing the gracious host, she offered them coffee and biscuits, before getting down to business.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Smith. Or should I just call you, 'Doctor'?" The woman said, after taking a sip of coffee.

Trying to hide his surprise, the Doctor cleared his throat, crossed his legs and said, "Doctor...who? I'm sorry. I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else."

Donna wasn't so quick. Her mouth dropped open and she glanced nervously at the Doctor.

"You are the Doctor? The alien with many faces, whose ship looks like an old-fashioned police box?" The woman asked in a, relaxed, friendly manner. "I'm guessing you prefer to travel incognito, but I'm rather afraid your mode of transport will tend to give you away. Unless of course, you happen to land outside of a police museum."

"And, if I'm correct," The Doctor said, giving up all pretense of denying his identity, "Since you know about me, you're with Her Majesty's Secret Service. And you are...?"

"You can call me Marjory. Nice work with the Titanic last Christmas, by the way." The woman said.

"You mean my friend Veena was telling the truth about that?" An astonished Donna asked.

"I have a feeling you and your friend are here for the same reason I am. This flu epidemic is no accident of nature." Marjorie continued, choosing not to answer Donna.

"You mean it is terrorists?" Donna said, thinking of Wilf and the rest of her family.

Meanwhile, the Doctor had gotten out of his seat. Slipping on his glasses, he got out his sonic screwdriver. The Doctor began walking around the plane, pointing the sonic and checking readings every few minutes.

"No. Not this time." Marjory shook her head. "Forgive me, but you are...?"

"Donna. Donna Noble. I'm a friend of the Doctor's." She said. "My granddad has this flu thing. The Doctor's trying to help. I don't understand. If this thing didn't happen on its own, and it's not a terrorist plot, what is it?" Donna asked.

"It appears to be a combination of corporate greed and blackmail. On an unprecedented scale." Marjory answered.

"Oh, I think it may be much, much more sinister than that." The Doctor said. Both women turned and gave him their full attention.

"What can possibly more 'sinister', as you put it, Doctor, than threatening millions of innocent lives for profit?" Marjory asked, raising an eyebrow.

"This is the jet used to spread the infection in London." He said, pocketing his specs and the sonic. Sitting back down in the chair, the Doctor leaned forward and looked over at Marjory. "There's minute, and thankfully harmless traces of it inside the plane. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised to find that there's tanks of the stuff in the hold, or stored somewhere nearby. It's inert in its present state. I think it must need some sort of catalyst to activate it upon release in the air. Thing is, according to my readings, there's only one planetary system this virus originates from. And it's not yours. Mind you, I'd have to do a more extensive analysis in the TARDIS to be one-hundred percent certain, of course."

"You mean aliens are responsible for this?" Donna asked him."Why? What for?"

"I've no idea." The Doctor said, "But I intend to find out. I want to go back to the TARDIS and see if I can narrow down the origins of this virus. Maybe I can find a cure of my own. Which, if I do," He looked at Marjorie, "I would give to you. No charge. Donna," He got up and stood next to Donna's chair, "while I'm working on that, maybe you could go and check out that office trailer. "

"I've already done that, Doctor." Marjorie told him, standing and looking at Donna skeptically. "I didn't find anything incriminating in there."

"I believe you. However in this case, Donna's got one advantage you don't have." The Doctor asserted.

"And that is?" Marjorie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"She's the world's best temp." The Doctor grinned, giving Donna a wink. "Trust me, if there's anything out of order, she'll find it."

"That's me." Donna smiled, standing up. "Super-temp!."

"Would you mind telling me how you plan on..." Marjorie began to say.

Without warning, the door to the plane slammed shut. Startled, they all looked, but could see nothing that would cause it to abruptly close like that. The Doctor instinctively moved closer to Donna. Alarmed, everyone looked out the windows for some sign of the person or persons who shut the door. The Doctor ran over to it. He tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. The sonic turned out to be of no use, and when he tried using physical force, all the Doctor got for his efforts was a sore shoulder.

"We're trapped!" Donna cried out.

"Marjorie, is there another door on this plane somewhere?" The Doctor asked her.

"Not that I'm aware of." She told him.

"Maybe we can get out through the cargo hold." The Doctor said.

Then, all the lights inside the hangar snapped off. There were still lights on inside the plane. Yet, one by one, they too, dimmed and cut out.

Almost inaudibly at first, the three of them heard a soft hissing noise. The Doctor slipped a small torch out of his pocket. He shone it around the interior of the plane. Following the noise to its source, he found himself alongside one of the seats near the front of the plane. He turned the beam of the torch up towards the ceiling. Donna and Marjorie came up to see what the Doctor had found.

In the torch light, they saw a small cloud of white vapor escaping from an air conditioning vent over one of the seats. As the three of them were stood there, they heard more hissing from other vents all over the interior of the plane. In minutes, the Doctor knew, the plane would begin to fill with a virus-bearing vapor.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Oh my god!" Donna exclaimed, staring at the white fog filling the plane. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Donna," Marjorie said. "Do you have a mobile on you?"

"Yeah. What about it?" Donna asked.

"Let me have it, please. I've a couple of operatives stationed in the next hangar. Maybe I can reach them so they can come and open that door."

Donna handed the other woman her mobile. But, just as the Marjorie took it, even more of the white vapor seemed to be seeping into the cabin. Both women began to cough and choke.

"Both of you, on the double. Get down on the floor and cover your faces! Hurry!" The Doctor urged the two women.

Grabbing a pillow from a nearby seat, Donna put it over her face and lay down on the floor on her stomach. Marjorie had taken off the suit jacket she was wearing and covered her mouth and nose with it. She sat hunched over, desperately trying to get through to the other agents.

Holding his arm over his nose, Doctor scrambled around the plane, sonicking the vents. Nothing happened. The deadly vapor wouldn't stop. He stood in the middle of the plane, staring around him helplessly. In the enclosed atmosphere of the now locked cabin, and at the rate the gas was filling it, the chances for survival were probably nil. Possibly even for him, if the concentration was high enough. Already it was becoming difficult to see through the billowing vapor.

He could hear Donna starting to cough. That was not good. Rushing back over to the two women, the Doctor knelt down beside them. He shook Donna's shoulder. "Donna?"

She didn't respond right off, and The Doctor shook her again. She coughed and mumbled something unintelligible. He checked Marjorie.

"No!" The frustrated Doctor cried out. Marjorie was already dead. In trying to reach the other operatives, she'd taken the jacket away from her face and breathed in too much of the vapor. "I'm so sorry." he said, closing the woman's wide-open eyes. He saw Donna's mobile on the floor beside her and picked it up. He looked over at Donna.

"Doc—doctor." Donna pleaded, raising her head weakly. "Help, Doctor. I can't br-breathe!"

The Doctor stood up and paced the now fog-enshrouded cabin, tearing at his hair. "I can't stop this!" He said. Even he was starting to cough a bit, now. T he Doctor wished he still wore that long scarf he was so fond of, seven regenerations ago. He stopped pacing, standing resolute, his eyes face showing hope. "Of course! Decompression chamber!"

"Wh-what?" A now groggy Donna mumbled.

The Doctor got down on the floor with her. He looked into Donna's eyes.

"Donna, look at me." Her fearful eyes sought his. Suddenly, she felt calmer. Donna knew he was trying to help. "You have to trust me, alright?" She nodded her head. "I'm going to put you into a deep trance, slow down your heart rate and breathing to the bare minimum. That will help keep you alive until I can get us out of here. Are you ready?"

Donna nodded her head again, and the Doctor sat himself cross-legged on the floor in front of her. He placed his hands against her temples and began to chant. "_Ooohmmm_!"

Within seconds, Donna entered a deep comatose state, her heart slowed and her breathing almost—but not quite, ceased. The Doctor had another scathingly brilliant idea. Jumping to his feet, he ran towards the plane's cockpit. Like the cabin behind, it was filled with white fumes. He started to cough again. Using his sonic screwdriver, the Doctor broke all the windows, letting in fresh air, and causing the vapor to dissipate somewhat.

Jumping into the pilot's seat, the Doctor began flipping switches, hoping that whoever had cut the interior lights, hadn't messed with the engines. He was in luck. In seconds, the jet's engines began their high-pitched whine, and the craft vibrated with power. The Doctor flipped the switches for the exterior lights. With relief he saw that they still worked. .

Taking the steering yoke in his hands, the Doctor carefully backed the jet away from the portable steps. Which, even for him, wasn't easy to do with only the landing lights of the plane to see by. He continued backing the plane, all the way to the rear of the hanger.

Leaning forward, he pointed his sonic screwdriver out of the open window towards the wide hangar doors. Slowly the doors creaked open. Before the they opened all of the way however, they jammed. The Doctor checked the settings and upped the power on the sonic. Nothing happened. The doors weren't open enough to allow for the whole wingspan of the jet to go all of the way through the opening.

Whispering a rude word in old high Galifreyan, the Doctor put on the brake, and went back into the cabin. He picked up Donna in a fireman's carry, and carted her into the fresher air of the cockpit. He set her down in the co-pilot's seat. Her skin was pale and cold. The Doctor crouched down beside Donna and snapped his fingers. With a gasp, she woke up.

"Doctor? Wha—?" She said, feeling weak and confused.

"It's alright now, Donna, everything's fine." He tried to reassure her. There was a uniform jacket lying over the pilot's chair. The Doctor took that and put it around Donna's shoulders. "There ya' go. That'll help keep you warm, 'till I can get us out of here."

She started coughing, and the Doctor looked at her with a guilt-ridden face.

"I'm sorry, Donna." He said sadly. "I shouldn't have brought you here. I should've left you at the hospital with Wilf."

"You wouldn't dare!" She scolded him half-heartedly. Then she smiled. "You do whatever you need to, Doctor. Don't worry about me. If I can handle wandering around inside a volcano, I can deal with a blinking cough."

"I'm going to buckle you in, Donna." He told her, strapping her into the co-pilot's seat. "Hang on, this is going to be a bumpy ride."

"What are ya' gonna' do?" Donna asked. "Or do I really want to know?"

"Erm—maybe you should close your eyes for this bit." He answered, slipping into the pilot's seat and once again powering up the engines. "Tower," the Doctor said out loud, "this is Time Lord Airlines ready for take off."

The plane vibrated with power as its twin engines roared to life. Taking a deep breath, the Doctor floored it. The jet shot forward to the front of the hanger.

"Right." He heard Donna say, "Closing my eyes now. Very good advice, Doctor."

In seconds, the plane crashed through the partly open doors, severing it's wings in half. Worried about any damage that might prove fatal, the Doctor checked the instrument panel. Lights were flashing and a disembodied recorded voice was giving an obvious warning. Fortunately, nothing indicated that the plane was on fire. The Doctor coasted the little jet to a stop on the tarmac a short ways from the hangar.

It took a while for the Doctor and Donna to get out of the plane. The Doctor ended up sliding down the nose of the jet, landing nimbly on his feet. He fetched a rope ladder out of the TARDIS, and flung it up to Donna. As she slowly descended the ladder, he noted that her cough seemed to be getting worse.

Inside the TARDIS, Donna followed behind the Doctor as he began fiddling with the console.

"I need to analyze that vapor. If I can narrow down the point of origin, I may be able to come up with an antidote for you and Wilf." He said.

"Oh. That's nice." Donna said indistinctly.

"Donna?" The Doctor whirled around. He just in time to catch her, as she started to fall.

"Whoa! Let's sit you down for a moment, eh?" He said, shifting her over to the jump seat.

Looking tired and drawn, Donna didn't argue with him. Which the Doctor felt said volumes about how sick she truly was. He felt her skin. It felt cold and clammy. Yet her forehead was burning with fever.

"I need to do something, Donna. And I'm sorry, really I am. But it's the only way." He told her. "Believe me, this going to hurt me a whole lot more than it's going to hurt you."

"Do what?" She asked sleepily, before giving in to a rasping cough.

"This." The Doctor said. Grabbing her face in his hands, he gave her a long, drawn out kiss.

Out of the blue, Donna's colour instantly returned. Her temperature went back to normal and she was wide awake and alert. Immediately she stood and slapped the Doctor in the face. He rocked back on his heels.

"Like I said." He muttered, rubbing his sore cheek ruefully. "Hurts me. More than you."

"Let me tell you something, spaceman. If you're thinking I'm gonna' play stewardess with you, you've got another think coming!" A highly indignant Donna shouted at him.

"Donna. Listen. It's not what you think. You had contracted the flu. I wasn't kissing you. I was drawing the virus out of your lungs and bloodstream. It wasn't any different than giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation"

"Ah. I...ah. Sorry." Donna said, looking sheepish.

The Doctor paused, looked puzzled.

"Stewardess?"

"Oh...never mind!" She gave a big yawn. "Excuse me." She apologized again. "I'm really knackered, Doctor."

"No worries, Donna. You're body is reacting to the abrupt change change from sick to well." He told her. "I've some very boring outer-spacey, scientific research to do. Why don't you go for a bit of a kip?"

After Donna went to her room to lie down, the Doctor got busy. From a trunk underneath the metal decking, he pulled out a device which looked similar to a policeman's breath analyzer for drink drivers. He was about to blow into it, when out of nowhere he got a case of the wobblies. Gripping the console, the Doctor bent over and broke into a hacking cough. He began to sweat and his skin turned gray.

The Doctor was interrupted by the ringing of a mobile from his suit pocket. He picked it up and pressed send.

"Hello?"

"Donna! Where've you been?" Came Sylvia's voice.

"No. Sorry. It's the Doctor." He coughed. "Donna's not here."

"Where is she then?" Sylvia demanded.

"She's in bed..." He started to say.

"I knew it! You two are heaven no wheres, having a some...dirty weekend..." She ranted.

"Here we go." The Doctor sighed, muttering to himself, "Don't hate me cos' I'm sexy.

"What did you just say?" Sylvia said.

"I'm glad you're not here, cos' this place is really messy." The Doctor ad libbed.

"Don't go changing the subject, mister. And don't go expecting Donna to be your maid, either!" Sylvia scolded him.

"Look. We really are just friends, Mrs. Noble." The Doctor told her, trying desperately to change the subject, "Donna wasn't feeling well, so she's off having a nap."

"Is she alright?" Sylvia had a sudden nightmare vision of both her dad and her daughter lying in intensive care.

"She's fine. Nothing serious. Only tired. I thought a rest would do her good." The Doctor said.

"I see. Well." Sylvia's voice became a little less angry. "Best not disturb her then. Only, when she wakes, tell her that Wilf has been put into intensive care. I thought she'd want to know."

"Yes. I'm sure she will.." The Doctor said.

"Goodbye, Doctor." Sylvia told him, ringing off.

The phone fell from his fingers. The Doctor stared down at it.

"Bye." He said, before collapsing to the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Inside the Cozy Cuppa Cafe on the Islington Street, Ed Marshbender was sat with a paper cup of coffee on the table in front of him. He was nibbling on a croissant with one hand, and setting up his laptop mouse with the other. Recently laid off from his job at the television studio, he'd just spent half the morning in what proved to be an unpromising job interview. In fact, if the interviewer's attitude was anything to go on, all of his efforts had been an utter waste of his time. The small film studio's human resources manager, in less than thirty minutes, had effectively flushed all of Ed's hopes for a job down the loo of life. Now, he was trying to put some of the frustration and anger behind him, by taking a time out. He having breakfast and catching up on the latest news. He saw a story in _The Guardian_ about the London flu and clicked on it.

_GOVERNMENT ORDERS MANDATORY VACCINATIONS._

The headline said. Alarmed, Ed scrolled down and read more:

"_The Ministry of Health issued today an edict stating that all people residing in every major city in Great Britain, regardless of whether or not they are citizens of the United Kingdom, are to receive mandatory vaccinations for the recent deadly outbreak of what many are calling the 'London flu.' Mobile injection units will be set up in schools, hospitals, community centres, and at selected government buildings, beginning as early as Friday morning. _

_Sources say that this will also apply to all passengers disembarking from planes at Heathrow and other major airports, as well as all ferry and train passengers coming into the country from overseas. Anyone refusing to get the injection, besides facing a stiff fine, will be forced to stay in special isolation centres until the crisis has passed. _

_Even though the injections are free, many are already worried about missing hours at work, as it is expected that the public may end up spending an entire day in long queues. Some workers are already threatening strike action, if they are not paid for their time off the job. _

_Speaking off the record, an unnamed official within the NHS says that the mandatory injections will put a huge strain on the health service's already overtaxed human resources and fiscal budget, and expressed concerns that patient care in its hospitals may suffer as a result..." _

Donna woke with a start. Something was very wrong. She sat upright on her bed in her room in the TARDIS, shaking her head in denial. Everything seemed perfectly normal—well, normal as defined by travel inside a space-time ship. Why did she feel a strange foreboding? It must have been a bad dream or something. But, if it was a dream, why didn't she remember it? Yawning and stretching, she decided to ignore it. Donna made a quick appraisal of her hair and clothes in a full-length mirror in a corner of the room, before she went to check on the Doctor. She was curious to see how the he was progressing with his research.

The console room seemed deserted. That's what Donna thought, at first. Then she spied the Doctor's trainers sprawled out on the floor on the opposite side of the console.

"I knew it, you alien slacker," She joked, "lying down on the job again..." Yet, as she rounded the console and glimpsed his prone figure, Donna's voice trailed off. "Doctor!" She cried out, rushing to his side. "Doctor! Please wake up! Let me help you!"

Kneeling by his side, Donna bent down over the Doctor. Taking off her cardigan, she wadded it up and put it beneath his head. The Doctor's face was pale and sweaty, and his breathing laboured. She continued to speak to him, but all he did was mutter some strange language she couldn't understand. "_Apmedonal_," he said, "_apmeard_."

"What?" Donna said, "I'm sorry. I can't understand you." She leaned close to his ear and shouted, "You. Need. To. Speak. English!"

"Slap me, Donna" He finally croaked in a weak voice, gasping for breath.

"I—I can't do that!" She protested. "You're sick, you don't know what you're saying."

Weak though he was, the Doctor managed to raise his head to look at Donna. Though it was a huge effort, he spoke louder. "Since I may die at any moment, there's something I have to tell you."

"What is it, Doctor? I'm listening." Donna said, tears in her eyes.

"Would you mind if I called you 'sexy knickers?' He said, leering up at her. "Have I told you, you have a very nicely shaped bottom?"

"Wha—? Of all the cheek!" Before she realized she was doing it, Donna hauled off and slapped him.

"Wharrrr—!" The Doctor roared, sitting up suddenly. Donna's mouth dropped open and she pulled back. Wincing, he held his sore cheek in his hand.

"Blimey! You hit harder than your mum! Harder than all the mum's put together." The Doctor exclaimed, his voice already returning to normal. "Just what the Doctor ordered! Nothing like a good hard slap to clear the ol' sinuses!" He grinned at her.

Then instinctively ducked, as a very upset and confused Donna looked ready to slap him again.

"Sexy what?" She shouted, shocked. "Have you been looking at my arse?"

The Doctor's face became more sober.

"Sorry, Donna. Didn't mean a word of it, I swear. My race left that sort of thing behind years ago. Well, except for the Corsair. Let me tell you, he invented the dirty weekend. But I give you my promise as a Time Lord. It didn't mean anything, trust me. Really. I'm very, very sorry. When I drew the infection out of you, I absorbed it all. My sinuses were going haywire. I needed you to give me a good, hard slap so that they could mend themselves. That flu virus gave me one helluva' nasty sinus infection." Pulling a tissue out of his pocket, he blew his nose noisily. His colour was quickly returning and his breathing seemed almost normal. "See?" He smiled hopefully, worried that he may have lost her as a friend, "All better, thanks to you!"

Donna helped him to his feet. She wasn't at all happy about the kiss and the flirting, but she was glad that the Doctor seemed to be alright.

"One more cheesy alien pick up line, mister, and I'm going home." She huffed. Then, smiled. He smiled back and she hugged him.

"Thank you, Donna." He whispered warmly, "I couldn't ask for a better friend than you."

All of the sudden, an urgent warning hooter came from the console. The Doctor ran over and stabbed a few buttons. The noise abruptly stopped. Turning on the monitor, the Doctor's eyes went wide with alarm.

"It's an incoming ship, coming out of warp. It's headed straight for—!"

Before the Doctor could say more, he and Donna were flung down on to the floor, as the incoming ship clipped the TARDIS and sent it spinning out of control towards Earth. Sparks flew from the console and flames erupted from down below the decking somewhere.

Gripping the console by his fingers, the Doctor clawed his way up to look at the monitor screen. He didn't like what he saw.

"Hang on, Donna! We're gonna' crash!" He shouted.

The meeting room in Number Ten had gone utterly silent. The Deputy Prime Minister was hunched over in one corner, gasping for air after spending several minutes retching into a potted plant. The other members of the meeting had nothing to say. At Huxley's urging, the Deputy Prime Minister convinced the others in the room to try the injection, to determine that it was safe. Some twenty-five minutes passed after Huxley had administered the injections to everyone but the Deputy Prime Minister.

Of those people, there remained nothing but some flesh coloured goo puddled on their chairs, slowly dripping onto the plush carpet below.

The quiet was broken when the Deputy Prime Minister heard an odd sound. It was like the crackling of a stiff cellophane wrapper, only magnified ten times over. The man pulled out a red silk handkerchief from his suit pocket and wiped his face. He didn't want to look. Unfortunately, human curiosity got the better of him. What he saw, made him wish he hadn't.

He screamed, boggling, horror-stricken, putting an arm to his face, as if that would make the terrible thing he saw go away.

"What are you?" He gasped, when he could finally find the words.

"I am the official procurer for the planet of Toxil-Maacht. I am here to re-supply our army's ships with a year's worth of nutrients. Our enemies found our supply convoy and destroyed it utterly. We must have more food soon, or we shall all perish." The creature who stood where Huxley had once been, said. It's cultured voice was still much like Huxley's had been, except that now it was higher pitched, and, it had a very slight buzzing whine, like the drone of a distant insect. "I have been sent here to obtain what we need for our soldiers, so that we may continue our struggle against the evil Zygon forces."

The man who was once was Huxley was now an insect, somewhat taller than man-sized. It was black, had two dark scaly wings, and six legs—but stood on only two of them. On its brown body, was an over-sized head bristling with fine hairy spikes, and huge black, unblinking oval eyes. Where its mouth should have been, was a long, thin, tube with a needle like point.

The Deputy Prime Minister stared dumbly at a creature from beyond his worst nightmares. "But...but...you're a giant mosquito."

"We are no relation to the primitive insects of your planet." It said. "In my culture, the politically correct term is 'arthropod'. Oh, and Huxley isn't my actual name, either. My real name is unpronounceable in your Earth language. But, if it makes you more comfortable, human, you may call me 'L'arry.'"

"L-Larry?" The shaken and confused Deputy Prime Minister asked

"That is what my name would translate to in Earth English. At least," the thing said, "that's what my internal verbal-aural translator pod tells me. But these things never are completely accurate, are they? When I went to Moscow on a business trip last month, I ordered a dry martini sent up to my room. The hotel staff sent me a dog and a girl named Martina instead. And I have to say, they were most delicious."

"De-delicious?" the man whispered, giving an audible gulp of terror. He backed up against the wall fearfully. "No. Please. Please don't eat me!" He pleaded with L'arry the arthopod.

"Oh, tosh!" L'arry said, giving a dismissive wave with of one of its legs. "You're not on the menu. Not yet, anyway. _If_ you play your cards right. Besides, " It laughed, "I've got lunch already prepared."

So saying, L'arry bent down and stuck his mouth-tube into the puddle of goo that had once been the MP from Flydell North. As the insect began slurping greedily, the Deputy Prime Minister swooned on to the carpet in a dead faint.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Coughing and waving away the white smoke which wafted through the now-dimly lit TARDIS console room, the Doctor quickly went over to where Donna lay on the floor.

"You alright, Donna?" He asked, helping her to her feet.

"Cheers." Donna nodded.

"Good thing the TARDIS automatically activated it's collision shielding. As it is, she doesn't appear to have sustained any major damage. Although, I hope you don't need to use any of the bathrooms anytime soon. I'll er—get the TARDIS to re-build new one's." The Doctor said, as he continued checking for problems.

"I hope you got the plate number of that driver. You know, you really ought to install some airbags on this thing, Doctor." Donna told him. "I wish you hadn't mentioned bathrooms. Now I have to erm—you know."

"Ey?" he looked up, puzzled. Then he got it. "Oh. Right. Sorry." He apologized. "It'll only take a few minutes to to fix it. Tell you what." He smiled at her. "I'll make up for the inconvenience by installing a bidet and a whirlpool bath, Donna."

"Thanks. But if you don't mind, I'd rather you leave off the posh fixtures and make it a few seconds." Donna said, shifting her legs uncomfortably. "Does this thing have a porta-loo on board?"

"Yeah, not right now, Donna." The Doctor said, abruptly distracted by a mauve-coloured light, which had just begun flashing on the far side of the console. "We've got an emergency distress signal coming in."

"From that other ship?" Donna asked, coming to stand beside him.

"No." The Doctor answered, fiddling with some switches and looking at the monitor screen. "This seems to be coming from the far side of your moon.. The other ship's already landed on Earth. At least, it has according to the comparative astro-kinetic trace signal it left behind. That ship was a Trylellian Class space freighter. A supply ship from the far reaches of the universe. Question is," he puzzled, hand reaching up to ruffle the back of his hair, "what's it doing here? And who's sending us that distress call? I can't quite get a fix on any readings coming from that ship. Which is very odd indeed. It's almost as if someone is purposely trying to keep it from being found. Now why would a ship in trouble want to do that?"

"There's only one way to find out, I suppose." Donna said, looking at him with arched eyebrows. The Doctor's face brightened and he shot her a grin.

"Right you are, Donna. OK. First things first. Let's go check out those stranded moon tourists." The Doctor agreed, as he piloted the TARDIS towards the dark side of the moon.

"Wrong, spaceman. First things first, you fix the blinking plumbing!" Donna insisted.

Sylvia numbly stared down at her now-cold cup of tea. She was sat on a less than comfortable chair, all alone, in a special waiting lounge of the hospital's intensive care unit. Her dad had gone critical, and was barely being kept alive on a respirator. The doctor and nurses tried to put a positive spin on that, but Sylvia wasn't buying it, and told them so. If her dad was going to die, she'd prefer to be prepared for that eventuality, rather than be given false hope.

She was too aware that if it came to the worst, she was the one who would have to sign off her dad's life support. The thought made it feel like she had a Titanic-sized iceberg sitting in her stomach. It was truly one of her worst nightmares come true. Reality wasn't a television programme, it was this. Right here, right now, inside the cold sterile walls of a hospital. Part of her mind longed to simply run away, let someone else handle it. But, she couldn't. Sylvia knew that she had a nonnegotiable obligation, one born purely of love, to stay there and wait. Whatever the outcome. In a corner of the room, amid some dusty plastic potted plants, an old television set droned away at a low volume. She heard it, but barely registered what the news reader was saying.

"_...and vaccinations are set to begin at any time now. We are told that no one in the greater London area is to be excluded from receiving an injection. It is even rumoured that the Queen may televise her vaccination live, on BBC One, in order to reassure the public that the vaccinations are both safe and effective. As of this news broadcast, hundreds of people across Great Britain have contracted the flu, and some eight-two deaths have been reported nationwide. The youngest victim so far is a three year old boy in Manchester. As the virus spreads unchecked, is believed thousands may become ill in the next few weeks. And, according to an unnamed source, those numbers are only expected to continue to rise. NHS officials say that many hospitals are becoming overwhelmed, as more and more patients are pouring in, and some members of staff are becoming reluctant to show up for their shifts..._

_...Buses in London have ground to a halt, as drivers have been taking unscheduled holidays or sick leave, rather than risk being exposed to the virus. Rail staff have also reported in sick, meaning less trains coming into and out of London and other major cities across Great Britain. Many Tories in the House of Commons are expressing grave concern over the present state of the economy, and are now considering significant cuts to education, the arts, pensions and unemployment benefits. They say they also are having ongoing discussions with members of the financial industry, over the possibility of granting loans to banking interests, in order to keep the nation's finances stable. They urge everyone to have their injections, so that life can return to normal as quickly as possible. In other news._..."

"I...I can't believe I agreed to do this." the Deputy Prime Minster said, his voice trembling with stress and fear. He was pacing the floor in the prime minister's office with the once again human form of the official procurer of the Toxil-Maacht. L'arry was sitting behind the desk, with his feet propped up and his fingers laced behind his head. The man stopped and stared at the alien. He shook his head sadly. "Huxley, or L'arry, or whatever your name is. You do realize that you've made me into a traitor."

"Ah," L'arry said, crossing his legs giving the man a smug smile. "but that is only a matter of your very narrow human perception. To my people, you'd be a hero. We love heroes. Something to give the war-weary people a morale boost, you see. You'd be feted on my planet. Wining and dining with political leaders, doing the chat show circuit, having your picture taken with celebrities. Of course, that would only be if you were one of us. As it is, we don't like humans very much...except on a restaurant menu."

"OK. You've made your point. The prime minister is dead. An entire room full of our top health advisors..." He swallowed and looked like he was going to be sick on the carpet. "I have no choice, do I? It's entirely up to me to save who I can in this country. I am formally requesting that you reconsider at least some of the military numbers. I'm not sure I can vouchsafe having you eliminate our military entirely." He said, adjusting his necktie nervously. "It shall leave us totally defenseless. We've lost American support due to the crisis. We'd have to get our military support from the Canada!"

"I can see your problem." L'arry nodded. "The Canadians do tend to need a bit more seasoning then you lot."

"I wasn't talking about dinner. I was speaking of national defense." The Deputy Prime Minister fumed.

"If you don't give in to my demands, you'll have no worries on that scale." L'arry said mildly, as if it wasn't the threat it was.

"You did however, give me your word that you'd give us enough cures for the royal family and important members of the cabinet and parliament. If we pushed up the schedule. Well, vaccinations are going to begin first thing tomorrow morning, instead of Friday. Does that suit you?" The Deputy Prime Minister asked bitterly. He sat down in a chair and pulling out a handkerchief he mopped his brow.

"Oh, I think that will do rather nicely, thank you." L'arry said.

"Forgive my bluntness, but when will you give us these magical cures?" the man asked L'arry.

"A promise is a promise, as you humans say." L'arry conceded, examining his manicured fingernails. "For each five thousand vaccinations, you get a vial of antidote."

"Five _thousand_?" The Deputy Prime Minister sat upright, eyes wide. His reedy voice squeaked with shock. "Surely you know that you can't just slaughter five thousand human beings, make them evaporate into little puddles of goo, and not expect for that to not be noticed?"

"Since my own staff will be managing and monitoring the injection stations, I rather doubt that. And anyway, our PR people are among some of the best in the galaxy. They'll find some clever way to spin the mass disappearances, believe me. As long as we stick to the urban populations—especially the poor, and leave the nobility and leave most of the rich, famous and powerful alone, I don't think anyone will pay much notice, quite frankly. Six months from now, it'll be business as usual." We had considered going after the pets as well, you know. Oddly, though, for some reason, many of you humans tend to worry more about cute furry little animals than your own neighbours. Which proves my point, I think." L'arry gave a chuckle, which sounded more like a buzz, deep down in his his human throat.

"You aliens are savages!" The Deputy Prime Minister shook his head. "Is there nothing you won't eat?"

"Of course! We're not Androgums!" L'arry said, surprised. He uncrossed his legs and put his feet down on the floor. "Personally, I find things like deep fried Mars bars, mushy peas, prawn crisps, saveloy, Big Macs and marmite completely disgusting. And don't even get me started on haggis! What's with that?"

"Wait a minute. What did you mean, when you said your _own_ people would be manning the injection stations? What about our erm—human medical staff?" The Deputy Prime Minister asked nervously, once again fingering his tie. He was tempted to rip the blasted thing off and hang himself with it. But, Great Britain would need a leader, even if a huge chunk of the population had gone to feed these mosquito aliens.

"They will among the first to undergo the injections, I'm afraid. In less than twelve hours, they will be suctioned up, placed in containers and loaded onto a cargo ship." L'arry said, spreading his hands in a 'oh well' gesture. "Therefore by necessity, our people will have to step in and take over. It also is an extra security option, to avoid any leaks to the media. We'll of course make certain that everyone checks their mobiles and other devices at the door. The people will go in one door, and those in the queue behind them, will think nothing of it, if we indicate that the exit queue is elsewhere, out of their sight. None of them will even notice that no one is actually leaving the building. Our military experts helped me plan our strategy. And, sorry, but with you gullible humans, it's been all so very easy."

"Oh my dear heavens. How am I ever going to explain all this to Her Majesty?" The Deputy Prime Minister said, mopping his perspiring brow.

"Why don't you let my PR people handle that, hmm—?" L'arry smiled. "All you need to do is supply me with the names of people you want spared, sit back, and wait to for the smoke to clear. We can do that too, you know. Make all of this acceptable to the remaining population. No one need ever know we were even here. We'll just slip some neural-erase powder into the water supplies, and everyone will forget this ever happened."

"You may kill me for saying this, but I hope someone stops you. Before it's too late for us." The Deputy Prime Minister muttered, his trembling hand unconsciously picking up the small framed portrait of the Queen, which was sat on a corner of the desk top. He looked at it, but didn't see the picture. Instead, he saw the surviving Britons demanding to know what happened to their friends and loved ones.

L'arry smiled. He took out a pack of cigarettes, knocked one out of the packet and lit up.

"I know your country has banned indoor smoking, but I'm sure you won't object, will you? Some humans deem it a filthy habit, but we of the Toxil-Maacht are immune to such petty things as cancer. And I must say, there is nothing quite like a good cigarette to relieve stress after a long, hard day." The Deputy Prime Minister mutely shrugged. "Oh, don't look so glum, sir." L'arry told him. "Before I leave for the front lines, my staff will acknowledge your assistance by helping you to tart up your public image. Get you elected Prime Minister. You'll be charge of everything, when this is over! So you see? We're the best thing that ever happened to you, my good man."

The TARDIS materialized on the dark side of the moon, less than fifty kilometers from the stranded spaceship. The ship was the size of half a dozen football pitches. Yet, that wasn't what made this craft so unique.

"That's simply..." An amazed Donna said, looking out of the open TARDIS door.

"I know." The Doctor grinned, his arm around Donna's shoulders, happy that his friend had a chance to see something truly special.

"...incredible!" She gasped, wishing she had a richer vocabulary. 'Incredible' didn't seem to half describe what Donna beheld. She'd seen some pretty wonderful stuff, traveling with the Doctor, and the sight she beheld out in the dark of space, was no exception.

What had made Donna stare in wonder, was the way the ship was put together. The enormous vessel was built to look exactly like an American World War II B-52 bomber. Except this one was powered by some sort of futuristic propulsion drive, instead of propeller engines. It even had a painting of what she assumed was an alien version of a pin-up girl: a well-proportioned, scantily clad and tentacled, teal blue-coloured alien woman with flowing blond hair. There was writing under the painting. The TARDIS translated it as, "_Trixie_." It was painted on the side of the shiny silver craft, underneath what appeared to be the flight control deck windows.

"Is it an American ship from the future?" Donna asked him.

"No." The Doctor shook his head, "Nice guess though. It's a Valaysha ship. From way out in the Scatacoke System, other end of the Universe. They're a long way from home. The Valaysha are seriously into American retro. Their parliamentary headquarters on their home world is modeled after the Chrysler Building in New York City. Oh! And, they have some of the best roller discos in the entire universe. We can go there someday, if you like."

"Whatever's wrong over there, do you think it has anything to do with what's going on back on Earth?" She said, nodding towards the spaceship.

"Dunno'. Possibly." The Doctor shrugged.

"Well? What are we waiting for then, are we going over to the ship or what?" She asked, impatiently.

"I am." He answered, facing her determinedly. "You are going home."

"The hell I am!" She snorted, putting her hands on her hips defiantly. "You're not dumping me just when things are getting really interesting!"

"Don't swear." He told her. "Donna, There's a good reason why I'm doing this."

"You probably just wanna' go over there and get Trixie's phone number." She snorted, half-joking. "She's probably just your type. Blond. Big chested. Nice...tentacles."

"Please listen. I need to tell you something." The Doctor said, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking down at her sadly. "And Donna, I'm really very sorry I didn't do this sooner. Before I passed out, your mum rang your phone. It's Wilf. He's gone into a coma and been put into critical care. I think you should be there with him."

Donna stood there and looked down at the floor. She wanted to be by her granddad's side. It was her obligation to him. Yet, what could she do? At least, with the Doctor, maybe she could help find a cure for Wilf. As she thought that, Donna felt a huge, concrete wedge of guilt riding in the middle of her gut. How could she not be there?

"It's OK if if you want to go home, Donna." He said gently, sensing her indecision. "I understand."

Donna glanced at the Doctor, completely at a loss of what to say to him.

The TARDIS materialized in a short empty corridor inside the ship. The door creaked open. The Doctor stepped out, pulling on his long coat. The ship seemed to be on emergency power, meaning that the heating and lights were turned down to the barest minimum level to allow life and vision. The air was thin, but not so much so that it was hard to breathe.

It was cold. The Doctor's breath clouded the air in front of his mouth, as he took in his surroundings. Behind him, Donna appeared in the doorway, wearing a hooded parka. The walls were a nondescript gun-metal gray, with some kind of utility pipes running along the ceiling. On a nearby door, was a large brass plate with the inscription: 'Passenger Dining Hall' Under which was written, '_SSFV Abundance'_

"Where are we?" Donna whispered, looking around her.

"Somewhere not too far from the main flight deck, hopefully." The Doctor shrugged. "This way." He said, heading forward towards a set of doors at the end of the hall.

They came to the doors, and the Doctor pressed his palm against a switch in the wall. As the doors slid open, Donna gasped. It was a lift. Inside, slumped against the walls, were the bodies of three dead aliens.

"D-don't move!" Came a voice behind them. "If you sho much as ta-ta-twitch, I will k-kill you both. Dead!"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

A gun poked the Doctor in the back. "I shaid, don't move. Or I'll shot... eh, I mean, shoot you." The voice behind him said.

"I'm so glad I don't have an itchy nose right now." The Doctor said whimsically, to whomever was standing behind him. "Then I'd be in real trouble."

"Look, whoever you are," Donna scolded, "if you're going to put out a distress call, then shoot the people who come to help, I don't think much of your chances for being asked to join the outer-space auto club."

"Shusssh!" Said the voice behind them. "My crew are all sleeping. Don' wanna' wake 'em."

"Did you just shoosh me?" Donna asked indignantly. "I hate it when people do that."

"Donna." The Doctor said in a cautioning tone. "Excuse me? Would you mind if I turn around?" He asked politely. "Cos', I really don't like being shot in the back. So much more personal to put a face to your executioner, I think."

"Yesh. Of course. Shh-shertainly." The voice slurred.

The Doctor and Donna did an about face, and got their first look at their captor. He was a tall, thin, middle aged humanoid, with blond hair and eyebrows, magenta skin and several short purple tentacles sprouting through the sleeves of his uniform. The alien was wearing a sliver space jumpsuit, with blue braid on shoulders, and a blue cap with silver trim.. A name patch on the chest of his uniform read: '_Captain Blite_'.

Donna immediately noticed the captain's breath. It reeked of alcohol. The man wavered on his feet, as if he were on the deck of a sailing ship in a storm-tossed sea, rather than a spacecraft.

"Have you been drinking, mate?" Donna asked him.

"No!" The alien replied. Then he gave a big hiccup, which almost made him fall down. "Erm—maybe jus' a wee bit." He corrected.

"Are you alright?" The Doctor asked, sensing something was very wrong.

"He's well enough to threaten to shoot us!" Donna snorted.

"I won't kill you." The alien said.

"Oh yeah?" Donna retorted. "Is that why you're holding that gun?"

"I think he's telling the truth, Donna. He's not going to hurt us." The Doctor told her.

"What are you now? Derren Brown?" She said to him.

"Actually, I've found that sometimes drunks tend to be more truthful than sober people." the Doctor said. "Well, that and the fact that I can see that the charger pack is not attached to the gun. It can't be fired without one."

"Show off." Donna sniffed.

As slowly and gently as possible, the Doctor reached over and took the gun from the ship's captain. The alien stared at the weapon, as if he'd never seen it before.

"Where'd that come from?" He mumbled, weaving slightly. Looking at the Doctor, he asked, "Are you whish the tour? I like giving tourssh. The kiddies love it when I show 'em my cap-cap'ns shair. Hey, ya' wanna' see my shair? I love my shair. I'm the cap-captain ya' know. I get to boss people a-around. It's like, totally aw-awsome!"

"Awesome?" Donna commented, looking at the Doctor askance.

"The Valaysha are _really_ into Earth retro." The Doctor shrugged.

"Sounds like he's been watching too many episodes of _Baywatch_." she said.

"Hang ten, Donna. Surf's up! Just go with the flow, man. Can ya' dig it?" The Doctor said to her in an American accent, grinning and waggling his eyebrows.

"Far-out dudes!" The captain said, giving them the peace sign. Then he passed out on to the floor.

A short while later, the Doctor and Donna between them had managed to carry the captain through to the cramped cafeteria alloted to the ship's passengers. Even though they hadn't had to carry the alien very far, Donna was not happy. As usual, she let the Doctor know about it.

"If I'd known I'd be carting heavy aliens about, I'd of spent more time at the health club." She complained, huffing from the exertion.

"They have alien weight training now?" The Doctor quipped. "Maybe I should sign up."

Using his elbow to trigger the door switch, the Doctor and Donna had carried the captain over to a cluster of black-topped dining tables. With a little careful maneuvering, they managed to get him sat—or rather, slumped, in a chair. There were a few more bodies laying prone on the floor behind one of the food serving counters. The dining hall was deserted, with a few tables and chairs tipped over near the back of the room. Like the rest of the ship, the atmosphere was dimly lit and silent. Almost ominously so.

The Doctor wondered what wild optimist had decided to call it a 'dining hall'. He'd seen bigger tea stalls. Unlike the more utilitarian corridor though, the walls in here were painted bright blue. Badly painted pictures on black velvet cluttered the circumference of the room: A gyrating Elvis, a tropical beach, a leaping stag, John Wayne on a horse, the New York skyline at sunset, kittens in a basket, and a matador waving his cape at a bull.

The Doctor and Donna went over to a line of drinks dispensers set into a nearby wall. To Donna's surprise, they looked much like the one's used on Earth. She decided it must be more of that retro look the Doctor kept mentioning. They didn't seem to be turned on. There was a machine displaying adverts for what appeared to be fruit juices. Next was a low self-serve counter with a coffee pot and tea Thermos alongside a built-in sink, a plate loaded with what looked like flat muffins and a serviette dispenser.. There was a row of tea mugs on a shelf above the counter. Further along, was what looked like a vending machine hawking alcopops and beer. Continuing down the line, the Doctor passed by the soda machine and opted for the one which sold bottled water and some kind of vegetable drink.

"Shouldn't we be getting him coffee or something instead?" Donna asked, watching the Doctor put on his eyeglasses.

"Nah. That's a myth." The Doctor told her, as he dug out his sonic screwdriver. "Consuming large quantities of alcohol makes your body dehydrated. Best thing is lots of water or caffeine free beverages. Coffee comes later. Er—so I've heard. Not that I, you know, do any pub crawling myself. Too dull. I prefer to get high on life. That's why I travel."

Flaring out his coat tails, the Doctor squatted down on the floor in front of the machine. Pointing the sonic at the front access panel, he pressed down on the control. The tip lit up blue and the device gave off a low whirring noise. Abruptly, the machine's front suddenly lit up, and its motor hummed into life. He aimed the sonic again at the access panel. With a loud clatter, a fountain of alien coins suddenly cascaded to the floor.

"What do you know? A 5p Ogron head coin. I've not seen one of those in years." The Doctor said fondly, looking down at the floor.

Trying again, he managed to get the machine to spit out a couple of bottles of water. A half hour on, and they'd changed from water to ordinary black coffee. Later, at the captain's request, he was brought another hot beverage, which smelled to Donna like a cross between turpentine and road kill. The Doctor told her it was a favorite drink of the Valaysha, called khatwhiz tea. The name alone made her not want to go anywhere near the stuff.

The captain was now awake, if still not entirely sober. He gripped the ceramic tea mug as if his life depended on it. Donna noticed with a start that the mug was nearly identical to the one Wilf had given her last Christmas. It had printed on it, a retro WWII poster, with the legend '_Keep Calm And Carry On_.' Pocketing his glasses, the Doctor sat on the edge of the table. Donna was seated in a chair near the alien. But not too close. She thought he smelled a little minging.

"Tell me what happened." He said, looking intently at Captain Blite.

"We're a combination freighter and passenger ship." The captain said, massaging his temples with two of his tentacles. "We haul goods pretty much wherever they need to go. But, it's the passenger fares which are our bread and butter, though. It's where the company makes its greatest profit margin. We go to planets and space stations frequently off the regular passenger routes. And then there's passengers going to more popular destinations, who don't like to travel by your standard cruise ship. We charge an enormous fare for that, let me tell you!"

"Right. Profits. Yeah. Got that. Can we skip the PR presentation now, and get to what happened in the past day?" The Doctor interrupted impatiently.

"That's just it, you see?" The captain said angrily. "All this is all my fault! We only had two passengers on this run, when we usually carry at least eight or ten. A huge loss at the end of our forth quarter, and we'd of been doomed. The owners wouldn't hesitate to give us all the sack and sell out. So, I decided to do something to er—balance the books, so to speak."

"You mean you did something illegal?" Donna asked.

"To my everlasting regret, yes." The captain nodded sadly. "I did something truly stupid, and made a deal with the Toxil-Maacht."

"I'm starting to form a very ugly picture in my mind of what is going on." The Doctor said, his face clouding with anger.

"Why? What do you mean? You think these toxic monks are responsible for what's happening on Earth? Donna asked him.

"Toxil-Maacht. With a hyphen." The Doctor corrected her. "Bunch of arrogant snobs, I always thought. Basically like giant mosquitoes. They are totally ruthless, with virtually no moral compass when it comes to getting what they want. Shape changers, as well. They'll eat anything, but prefer blooded creatures. Even their own kind, if they get desperate enough. Which, if the war isn't going so well, may be what has brought them here. I'll wager something's happened to their food supply. Won't do to have their own soldiers eating each other. Even a quarter of the population of Great Britain could probably supply their army for the equivalent of six months. Maybe a whole year."

"They're using my country as some sort of alien Tesco's?." Donna said incredulously. "There's hundreds of thousands of people in those cities. And they're all going to be turned into army grub! How are these mosquito things going to get away with that?

"Probably very easily." Captain Blite told her, taking another sip of his tea. "The Toxil-Maacht are experts at underhanded dealings. They're obsessive about it. Have many thousands of staffers who do nothing but work to undermine the competition. Spend every waking hour planning every move, making sure they leave nothing to chance. They live for getting the upper hand in a deal and keeping it that way. They'll lie to you to your face and make you believe it. Make you think they're on your side, and then kill you the minute you're no longer of any use to them. Trust me miss, I found that out the hard way."

"And that's what happened here." The Doctor surmised. "You agreed to work for them and when things didn't go as planned, they ended your contract. Permanently."

"I made a deal with them." Captain Blite nodded. "We were to ship their new food supplies directly to the front lines. Ten million credits when I departed from Sol Three—what you humans call Earth, another twenty mil' when I delivered the supplies. The most we make on an average run, even with a full cargo hold and all the passenger cabins booked, is around five million. This would've put us well into the profit margin for both this quarter and the next. How could I pass that up?"

Captain Blite's hands started trembling, and abruptly, he dropped his tea mug. It landed on the floor, sounding like a gunshot in a cemetery crypt, breaking on impact.

"Then what?" The Doctor prompted, more gently this time.

"Right after we entered into orbit around this moon, one of the crew, the ship's engineer, found out about the deal. He told other crew members about it before I could stop him. It seems my crew had a conscious. The idea of the mass murder of innocent humans down below was abhorrent to them. They threatened to mutiny. I couldn't have that, could I?" The captain said, matter-of-factly.

"You could have, but I won't debate that now." The Doctor said shortly.

"I decided to contact the Special Procurer of the Toxil-Maacht." The captain continued, "He's masqerading as a Human named Huxley."

"What!" Donna said. "You don't me that man who says he's got a cure for the London Flu and all that? That doesn't make sense."

"Oh. I think it makes perfect sense." The Doctor said, getting up and beginning to pace the floor. "Too much sense. Why didn't I see it? Toxilco Pharmaceuticals! They're so arrogant, they just couldn't keep from stamping their name on their own cover story. And I missed it! How thick am I?"

"But...why say they have a cure, when they plan on killing everyone?" Donna asked him.

"It's not a cure, my dear." Captain Blite replied. "The so-called vaccine is really a acidic dissolution reduction agent."

"A what?" Donna said, suddenly afraid for her family.

"They're going to turn human beings into an easily transportable liquid protein." The Doctor snarled, pacing the floor now like a caged tiger.

"They have at least one other cargo ship that I know of in this sector, equipped with special tanks in the hold." The captain explained. "I was supposed to receive the first shipment in..." He consulted an alien-looking clock on the cafeteria wall, "...in about four hours from now. Then, the mutiny happened. So, I contacted their Special Procurer to tell him what happened. To see if he could send some assistance." The captain barked a hoarse laugh. "Oh, he assisted me alright. Right into an early grave."

The Doctor gave the captain a sharp look, then sat down again. "Exactly what did this Special Procurer do?" He asked, though he had already guessed at least part of the answer.

"They released their virus into the ship, killing the whole crew and both passengers. I sensed something was amiss when I saw a canister of some sort materialize on the bridge. There were reports of other canisters all over the ship. Then, the gas was released. The crew began to sicken and die. Well, they deserved it, the dishonourable wretches. I am sorry about the passengers. I wear a heavy guilt on my conscious for that, believe you me."

"You're still here though." The Doctor said shortly. He was forming the opinion that the captain was either no better than the Toxil-Maacht, was completely insane, or was fifty-seven varieties of stupid. Possibly a bit of all three. He leaned forward and asked, "How did you survive?"

"First thing I did was lock myself in my cabin." The captain shrugged. "Have a gas mask there, you see. Saved me. For a while, anyway."

"What do you mean, for a while?" Donna wondered, suddenly suspicious. She began looking around the room nervously.

Donna could see by the Doctor's face, that he too, seemed a bit jittery. His angry look was being replaced by worry.

"After the gas did its thing, the Toxil-Maact came on board to finish the job they began. They disabled all of the communications equipment and escape pods. Then, for good measure, took out the main power drive. That's why everything is set at the minimum levels." The captain said with an air of defeat, "I'm never gonna' see my wife Trixie, ever again." He sighed sadly. "She's the most lovely shade of teal you'd ever want to see. And fit. Hubba-hubba! I painted her on the side of the ship. Just like the old Earth pilots used to do, during their Second Great War. Or was that the Third? I never cared for intergalatic history when I was in school, I'm afraid. Though I liked looking at the pictures in the holo-texts. It was Trixie who inspired me to fly out to the stars...dear, dear Trixie. Right now, I wish I'd never met her. But my gods, she has the body that just won't quit...gorgeous flowing hair, well rounded bottom, tentacles down to there and the size of her chest..."

"Erm-yeah. That's very nice" The Doctor said trying to put a stop to that line of conversation. He was sure now that the captain's mind had gone for a little stroll down nutjob lane.

"Did you see her picture when you flew in here? Doesn't half do her justice." Captain Blite asked.

"Yes. Right. Of course we did. Donna was saying that Trixie had nice...tentacles." The Doctor replied, "But, getting back to the damage to the ship, the escape pods can probably be repaired. At least enough to get you out of here. Why don't you simply do that? I could help."

"Ah. But the Toxil-Maacht never do anything by half-measures. They like to have insurance. One of their people also planted a neutron-destabilizer bomb. Quite probably in the power feed room down below. That's where it'd do the most damage. Vaporize everything instantly for miles around. Even with a working escape pod, I'm as good as dead." The captain sighed, clearly feeling sorry for himself. "We're all going to die here sometime in the next few minutes, and no one the wiser. Except maybe the folks on Sol Three might wonder where their moon had got too. I suppose the explosion will destroy that too. Pity. It's such a pretty moon."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"This ship is about to explode, taking our moon with it? And you're just sittin' there, drinking cat piss tea?" Donna said to Captain Blite, alarmed at the sudden turn of events.

"That about sums it up in a gratnut shell, Miss Donna. Yeah." The captain replied with a casual shrug. He gave a sloppy nautical salute. "Get to go up with my ship. The heroic Captain Blite! Some folk singer will probably write a song about me. Groovy."

"Listen to me!" The Doctor hissed, grabbing Blite by the shoulders and staring him in the face. "If the moon gets destroyed, all that debris will end up taking the Earth with it! You don't have to sit here and let that happen. I can stop the bomb from going off. But you have to tell me exactly where it is!"

"I'm—I'm..." Captain Blite mumbled, as he began to slump over, "...I'm tired. I wanna' go lay down now."

"This thing's got six engine rooms in it and that bomb's got special shielding to avoid detection. I can't use the TARDIS to find it. Where is it?" the frustrated Doctor said through gritted teeth, practically shaking the man.

Suddenly, Donna pushed him aside. She bent down, and gave the crumpled drunk a heavy slap across the face.

"Wake up!" She shouted. Then, bending near his face, she gave him a stern lecture. Sorry. Nothing personal. But we really haven't got time for your little trip to self-pity land. My whole planet is at stake. A million innocent people, just like those passengers you were so upset about. You couldn't save them. But you can save others. Now get with the programme and help us!" She said.

It worked. Captain Blite sat up, gasped and stared at Donna with shock in his eyes. "How dare you strike a ship's officer! I could have you shot for that!"

"According to you, I'm about to be blown up. Shooting me would be a bit of overkill, don't ya' think?." She countered. "Stop being so thick. You're the captain. Act like one. Tell us where that bomb is."

"Engine room six." The Captain mumbled, the harsh truth of Donna's words, suddenly making him ashamed of his behavior.

"Oh that's typical. Probably the farthest one from here. Of course." The Doctor muttered ironically, throwing up his hands in disgust. "How do I find it?"

"Four levels down. Through the lift doors, straight down to the end of the corridor, second door from the end. I'm guessing it'll probably be attached to the nuclear fission generator. That's where it'd do the most damage. It's too late, though. You'll never get there on time." The Captain said gloomily.

The Doctor didn't bother with a reply. He simply bolted from the room and headed for the lift, Donna behind him. Using his sonic, the Doctor made the lift go down at a far faster rate than it was ever meant to go. Donna's shriek of alarm pretty much proved that. To avoid her verbal abuse when the lift stopped, the Doctor promptly apologized to Donna for forgetting to warn her.

The lift doors had barely opened, when the Doctor squeaked through, still gripping the sonic screwdriver. His face determined, the Doctor barreled down the narrow corridor towards the engine rooms. This part of the ship was much darker than the one above, black shadows concealing what lay beyond the reach of the purple ceiling lights. It was dirty and utilitarian. The grimy counterpoint of a sleek, streamlined spaceship, which the passengers would never see.

Paved with concrete, the floor reverberated with the Doctor and Donna's passing. It sounded, in the empty and lifeless corridor, as loud as a herd of stampeding elephants. They passed five numbered gray steel doors, until they came to one marked **'**Engine Room 6.' When the Doctor pressed the outside latch, the door slid open, revealing an oily, steamy cavernous room. It was filled with all sorts of heavy machinery, pipes and control panels. Only a few red and yellow emergency lights lit up the place, making it seem like the bowels of hell.

Pausing for barely a second, the Doctor held the the sonic screwdriver up in the air and pressed down on it. The tip glowed blue and a low hum emitted from it. As the Doctor, standing on one leg, pirouetted a swift circle, the hum grew suddenly stronger to his right. He and Donna ran in that direction. Stopping in front of a large, complex looking machine, the Doctor immediately spied a device attached to the side.

"There you are, you beauty!" The Doctor said to the bomb, relieved at finding it so quickly.

"Are you going to deactivate that thing or flirt with it?." Donna smirked.

"Not now, Donna." He muttered, prising open the black metal outer casing of the device with his sonic screwdriver.

The bomb had been wedged on top of two control panels on the machine. It was placed just up out of Donna's reach, but was not so high that the Doctor couldn't work on it.

"Ah, now. This could get interesting." The Doctor said, examining the insides. "The Toxil-Maacht weren't messing about when they devised this thing." He explained to Donna, as he fiddled with some wires with his sonic screwdriver. "I'm going to have to be really careful. They probably have kinds of booby traps installed in here..." There was an audible click. It was followed by a rapid bleeping sound and a red light began to flash. The Doctor's intense expression of concentration changed to chagrin. "Erm—like that one." He swallowed, looking very unhappy, "Apparently."

"Oh my God. Can you stop it?" Donna asked, trying to see what was going on.

"No, I thought we'd stand around and wait to be vaporized." The Doctor snapped, uncharacteristically sarcastic with her. Then he sighed with resignation. "Yeah, Donna. I can stop it." His fingers felt around through the protruding multi-coloured wires. His thumb touched what felt like a relay switch, and he pressed down on it. The noise and the flashing light stopped.

"Whew! That was close." Donna said. But, on closer inspection, she saw the look on the Doctor's face. Both grim and sad. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

"What is it?" She asked softly, dreading the answer.

"Donna, get back to the TARDIS, quick as you can. You'll be safe there. Go to the console and press the blue button to the right of the monitor screen. The one that says 'Recall.' The Doctor said, not looking at her, his tone somber. "It'll automatically take you to the nearest planet with a suitable environment."

She knew, then. The Doctor was facing his death. It chilled her to the bone, to think of losing him this way. He was so full of life and energy. The idea of the Doctor being gone, was almost unthinkable to her.

"If you stop holding down that switch, it's going to go off, isn't it?" Donna surmised, putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

"Yeah." The Doctor nodded. "Something like that."

"Can't you find some gaffer tape or something to hold it down?" Donna suggested hopefully.

"Good idea, but no." The Doctor shook his head sadly. "There would be too much risk that the tape would come undone. Or, that it wouldn't exert enough pressure. This switch requires several pounds per square inch behind it, to keep it pressed down. Sorry, Donna."

The Doctor's hearts broke with knowing that he'd not regenerate this time. Not if his body was instantly vaporized. Nine hundred years of facing death on a regular basis, and still he wasn't ready for it. Wasn't ready for what might or might not lie beyond the grave. At least Donna would be safe, in the TARDIS. He was very happy he'd gotten to travel with her, in the end. No regrets there. Yet, it also made him so very sad, that their friendship would end in this way. It saddened him even more, to think of all those people down below on earth at the mercy of the Toxil-Maact, and he couldn't stop them. There was nothing he could do.

"Did you find it?" Captain Blite's still less-than-sober voice came from behind them, startling Donna.

"Dude." He addressed the Doctor. "Like, what are ya' doin'? Aren't you supposed to be defusing a bomb or something?"

Donna now suspected he'd been imbibing something more than alcohol. He smelled as if he'd been smoking something that wasn't tobacco. The captain's silvery jumpsuit uniform stood out in the dark room, like a full moon in a dark winter sky. In the dim light, she could see that his hair was disheveled, and his face had a hangdog look about it.

"Listen, captain moonbeam." The Doctor said tersely, "I need you to go up to the flight deck and point this ship towards deep space. You ought to be sober enough to do that one simple thing. There should have just enough power to at least maneuver the ship and set it in motion away from any planets. Oh, and one more thing; don't ever call me 'dude'! John Wayne did that once. That's when he started walking like he'd had an accident in his pants."

"Wow man, I could, like, turn the ship around. But, you know it won't go very fast. Without power, this ship will only drift. It'll crawl along like a gob turtle. It'll probably take, oh, three or four days, just to get away from this moon." Captain Blite drawled.

"Doesn't matter, I can stay here till' the proverbial cows come home if I have to. Just do it! Then both of you, get to the TARDIS and stay there." The Doctor ordered them.

"Cows?" Captain Blite muttered to himself, clearly baffled. "I didn't book any cows as passengers on this trip. Did I?"

"No! Let me, Doctor." Donna said firmly. "I'll do it."

"Ta' Donna, but now is really not the best time to pick to become a martyr." The Doctor said to her.

"Martyr my...look, Doctor. I don't wanna' die any more than you do!" Donna snorted, "Bottom line is though, I can't save Wilf. I can't stop a million other people down there on Earth from dying. But, you _can_. So let me do this, yeah?"

"What's she sayin'? The Captain asked the Doctor.

"If I stop holding down this switch here, the whole ship goes ka-blooey. And takes Donna's planet with it." The Doctor told him.

"Oh. And that's not good, is it?" Blite asked unnecessarily.

"No!" The Doctor and Donna replied simultaneously.

"What if I hold it down?" Captain Blite said. "I've nothing left to lose. If I go home without my crew or my ship, I'll be sacked. No one will ever hire me to take out another ship again. Not even as a cook's mate. I'll end up living rough in some street. But, going up with my ship. Like the sound of that. Maybe they'll give me a medal posthumously. Oooh, or even better, make it into a holofilm. I can just see it now: 'Mutiny on the Abundance.' Great title, don't ya' think?."

"I'm disappointed. I thought you were an honourable man, Captain Blite." The Doctor shook his head."

"What do you mean?" The captain frowned. "Of course I am!"

"I concede that taking my place might somehow seem like a way out, when you think there's nowhere left for you to go. But trust me," The Doctor reflected, thinking of his own losses, "it won't end there. You'll leave behind people who cared about you, who will feel nothing grief and guilt. And then there's all that potential wonder and happiness and beauty you have yet to see, the friends you've yet to meet. I know things look pretty grim to you now. You have to fight, captain!" The Doctor told him. "Put one foot in front of the other and carry on. That's what life's about. Survival. Soldiering on when it's the last thing you want to do. I'm a Time Lord. I know that things can and do change, eventually. You'll get away from here, find your way home to Trixie and work things out from there. Together. You don't want to leave her alone, now do you?"

"No, Doctor. I don't want anyone to be alone." Captain Blite said quietly. "It's a terrible thing, being alone." His left arm reached towards the Doctor, as he wanted to hug him. "Thank you. I..."

Without warning, Blite's right hand whipped out a cosh from his jumpsuit pocket. He smashed it against the back of the Doctor's head. With surprisingly good reflexes for a drunk, in the same movement his hand shot out towards the bomb. Captain Blite pressed his finger against the switch as the Doctor's hand began to slip off of it. The Doctor slowly crumbled to the floor, out cold.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"Doctor!" Donna cried out, kneeling beside his body. Angry, she looked up at Blite. "What'd you do that for? He was trying to help you!"

"And I helped him in return." The captain replied with a melancholy tone. He looked at her with wistful eyes. "There is no Trixie, miss Donna. There never was. I made her up. It's all about image in my line of work, these days. The stern—but also very hip, ship's captain. Not always easy to keep up appearances, you know. So, I'd wind people up from time to time about my fictional dream girl." He shook his head. "It's a lot less strange then some of those weirdos surfing the Optiweb, posing as their favourite celebrity or fictional character on MeBook. I mean, what's with that?"

This bloke was definitely ready to be sectioned to the nearest padded cell, Donna decided. He was one finger away from being vaporized, and all he's thinking about is his imaginary girlfriend? The Doctor was still out cold. All she could do was keep captain fruitcake talking, hoping he wouldn't get so sorry for himself, that he let his hand slip off the switch.

"But surely, there must be someone who would miss you if you were gone?" Donna asked him.

"On my own, I'm afraid." The captain shrugged. "My parents are dead. I have a brother but we aren't close. We only vone each other once a year, every winter solstice eve. He never even bothered to send me a birthday salutation this year. To be honest, I never had much time for relationships. I'm married to my work. This ship is my whole life." Blite's free hand stroked a bit of machinery lovingly. "I've served on her, ever since I was a young lad. She's wonderful! Really far-out, ya' know?. My dad helped to design her and I watched her being built, day by day. Dreaming of sailing off into the stars on her. And, as you can see, my dream came true. She's my best friend. The idea of parting from her...it's simply unthinkable to me. This ship is all I've got."

There was a groan from the Doctor, as he lay prone on the floor. As he regained consciousness, Donna helped him to sit upright. The Doctor glared angrily at Blite and was about to say something biting, but the captain cut him off.

"No, don't say it. I am sorry, Doctor, but it had to be done. Besides, maybe if I'm holding down this switch, you can get to engine room one and at least fix the auxiliary rotational atomizer drive. It's not connected to the main drive. That way you could steer my ship out of here much faster. It would only be hours, instead of days to get clear. Then you and your girlfriend here..."

"Erm—we're just friends!" Donna and the Doctor blurted out, pointing at each other and shaking their heads..

"Hey man, whatever you say. I can dig it." Blite shrugged. "Anyway, with the ol' girl here safely underway, you'll be free to go after the Toxil-Maacht. They have a lot to answer for. Especially their Special Procurer. That cat's a real drag.."

"Listen, Blite." The Doctor said desperately, as he got up off the floor. "I'll come back for you. I give you my word. Just hold on to that switch. I've got my TARDIS here on board.. I can use it to work out a way to save both you and this ship."

"You hang on, captain. We'll be back." Donna told him, with a parting smile of encouragement, "Just like the Doctor said"

"Right on, miss Donna. Have a nice day. And thank you for choosing the _Abundance_." A sad-faced Captain Blite answered woodenly, automatically reciting the personal farewell he'd given every single passenger for the past twenty years.

The Doctor and Donna left Captain Blite holding down the switch, as they raced back to the first engine room. It looked much the same as the room they'd just left; grimy, steamy and dark. Finding the right bit of machinery didn't take the Doctor very long. With the aid of his sonic screwdriver, and Donna holding a small pen torch so he could see what he was doing, he'd got it up and running in no time.

Next, it was a mad dash for the lift, a wild ride upward—Donna was at least prepared for it, this time. And then another full tilt run down yet another drab corridor to the main flight deck. To Donna, the ship's controls looked more like it had been cobbled together from the set of a low-budget sci-fi film. In a sort of Buck Rogers meets _Star Trek_ kind of way. There was even a large view screen on the wall in front of the captain's chair.

Though the room was half taken up with the equipment required to pilot the ship, the rest of the bridge was obviously kitted out for comfort on long flights through the stars. Walls were painted in soothing pastel colours. The crew's chairs and tables were outright tacky looking, though. They seemed to have been copied from some alien's idea of fifties and sixties lounge furniture.

The Doctor wasted no time in critiquing the décor, but hustled over to the navigator's console. He began plotting a course to take them away from the moon. From there, the Doctor slid over to the pilot's controls. Donna watched as his fingers flitted over the instruments. His hand reached over to the side of the captain's chair and gripped what looked like a sportscar's stick shift. He went to push it to the left, but it was locked in place. He couldn't get it to budge.

"Oh, no, no, no!" The Doctor shouted, clearly frustrated. "Arrrgh! They've deadlocked the controls!"

"They've already sabotaged the engines and planted a bomb. Why would they need to lock the controls for?" Donna asked.

"Insurance. They've left nothing to chance. The Toxil-Maacht know what they're doing is illegal, and they don't want any evidence of their crime to reach the Shadow Proclamation." He ran his fingers through his hair and stared at his friend. "Don't you see what this means? They aren't planning on killing a million people down below, Donna. They're going to murder over six billion. The whole planet."

"There must be something we can do!" Donna said, staring at the Doctor, who was looking around helplessly at the controls. He looked almost like he wanted to cry. His face had gone pale. He was breathing heavily, clenching his hands. "Doctor? It's not like you to give up. There must be something. Anything." She said to him.

"I can go back to the TARDIS and try and find a way to defuse the bomb from there." He sighed. "But, the ship will still be stuck here, next to your moon. If the captain's hand even twitches that switch..." The Doctor shook his head sadly as his voice trailed off.

"Where's a tow service when you need one?" Donna muttered.

From the captain's seat, the Doctor looked up and stared at her. Abruptly, his eyes lit up with joy.

"Oh Donna Noble! You are dead brilliant, you are!" He shouted, bouncing up from the chair and wrapping his arms around her in a hug.

"What'd I do?" She asked, puzzled.

"I'm so thick!" The Doctor smacked his head. ""I must be getting senile. Or turning into a conservative. Same thing, really. What I mean is, I've overlooked the obvious!" He told her, shaking his head at his own lack of foresight, as they headed back to the lift. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"What? Call some outer space auto club for a tow?" She asked jokingly.

"Nah, why bother them? I can use the TARDIS to tow this ship clear to deep space!" The Doctor grinned.

Back in the TARDIS once again, the Doctor speedily set about towing the other ship away from Earth's moon, and out towards deep space. Then, he began configuring the coordinates to take him back to the ship to rescue Captain Blite. But, he was too late.

As the Doctor was about to set the coordinates, the TARDIS was rocked by a massive explosion. Both he and Donna were unceremoniously swept off their feet. Picking himself off of the floor, the Doctor rushed to the console monitor.

"You alright, Donna?" He asked her, staring with dismay at the monitor screen.

"Yeah. Just bruised my dignity a bit, that's all." She said, deciding not to tell him that her dignity wasn't the only thing that had a few bruises. "I gotta' say, Doctor. Traveling with you is like the morning after a wild hen night, sometimes. What was that?" She asked, limping over to stand beside him.

"Captain Blite." The Doctor said softly, his face suddenly looking old and sad. After a brief pause, the Doctor whispered, "He's gone."

"Don't take it so hard, Doctor. I think he had it planned this way, all along. I doubt either one of us could have changed his mind." Donna told him, placing a hand on his arm. "He told me that ship was all he had. Maybe he couldn't handle being on his own."

Nodding gravely, the Doctor solemnly switched off the monitor. He stared down at the controls, knowing too well that if he didn't have his TARDIS and friends like Donna...and Rose, he might have easily gone the same way.

"I feel awful." Donna said, feeling guilty. "Maybe if I'd stayed with him, kept him talking, instead of running off with you..."

"If you hadn't been with me, I might not have thought to tow this ship out of the danger zone." The Doctor reminded her. As he began setting new coordinates for the TARDIS. "Very probably neither of us could have saved Captain Blite. But, we did try, Donna."

"Funny." Donna said. "He was at least partly responsible for the deaths of his entire crew and two passengers. Yet, I couldn't really hate him. And, in the end, he helped to save six million people."

"I don't think it's all that strange." The Doctor said to her, as he set the TARDIS in flight once again. "There's a mixture of good and bad in most intelligent life forms, I've found. Oh, there's beings out there that are indeed totally evil beyond redemption. Like the Weeping Angels, the Dominators or the Daleks, for instance. And humans like Gengis Khan, Hitler and George W. Bush. In reality though, it's actually fairly rare to find a being who is either all good or all bad. I even met a Dalek once, with Rose. She changed it. It stopped killing. That's never happened before. A Dalek not killing every living thing in sight? Impossible! Yet, before is died, it just wanted to stand and feel the sunshine. I wouldn't have believed it, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes."

"Where are we off to now?" Donna asked, watching the Doctor's hands busily tweaking several controls on the TARDIS consle.

"I'm taking you home to be with Wilf. I want you to keep a close eye on him. Don't let them give him, you or your mum any injections." He said, giving a dial which looked like a combination lock a quick twist.

"Don't you worry about that. They're not giving us any jabs!" Donna confirmed. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

"And I'm sure you will." The Doctor said under his breath. He smiled to himself thinking about Donna's potential reaction.

"What did you say?" Donna asked suspiciously.

"I said, I hope your mum won't be feeling ill." He lied.

"Where will you be, then?" Donna wondered, as the Doctor landed the TARDIS in a secluded alleyway behind Royal Mercy Hospital.

"I'm think it's time for me to meet the Toxil-Maacht's Special Procurer." The Doctor told her.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The Deputy Prime Minister's fingers drummed the desk top nervously. It was Friday morning. In less than half an hour, the mandatory injection stations would be opening their doors. There were hundreds of them, located in every major British city, as well as all of the primary ports of entry into the nation. By the end of the day, well over a million people will have ceased to exist.

As yet, the public had not been informed of the prime minister's death. Only certain key members of the PM's cabinet, military and Royal Family had been told. Despite it being a sunny morning, the office where the Deputy Prime Minister sat was dark. The curtains were drawn. Only the lamp was lit on the wide mahogany desk. It's green glass shade diffused the glow upwards, acting as a spotlight on the desk top for a small Union flag, a framed photo of the late PM's wife and children and a royal commemorative china dish full of jelly babies.

Wine red walls, a forest green carpet and dark wood bookshelves made the room seem as gloomy as the inside of a dungeon. And to the Deputy Prime Minister, that's what it felt like. Though unchained, he was nevertheless a prisoner of the alien creature posing as Huxley. He was trapped inside this office like a fly in a spider's web. Waiting for the inevitable.

On the desk, a voice spoke, startling the Deputy Prime Minister out of his brooding. He physically jumped when a female voice said, "Sir, I know you did not wish to be disturbed, but there's a man out here who insists on seeing you."

"I told you no visitors!" The Deputy Prime Minister snarled at her through the intercom. The last thing he wanted to come face to face with right now, was one of the alien's victims. That secretary really should have been replaced long ago. He didn't know what the prime minister had seen in her. He suspected it had more to do with her double D's than her CV. "And why aren't you out getting your jabs, Miss Brooks?"

"There's no one else here, sir. They've all been ordered to the injection centres. I was told that staff aren't expected to return until Monday morning." The secretary answered primly. "I'm afraid that I assumed you would not wish to leave this area completely without staff for an entire weekend."

"Thank you Miss Brooks. However, I have made..." He glanced at L'arry, who was still in his disguise as Huxley, "...eh—prior arrangements, in regards to the staffing shortage."

L'arry was sitting in a leather Queen Anne chair near the cold and empty fireplace opposite the desk. Despite the low light conditions in the room, he was casually reading the_ Daily Mail. _The alien must have built-in night vision, the Deputy Prime Minister thought_._

"Yes sir. About your visitor..." The secretary hesitated. "I know you said you did not wish to be disturbed, but the man's credential's check out, sir. He says he has come directly from the Home Office, and must speak with you urgently. On a matter of vital national importance."

The Deputy Prime Minister cast a questioning look in L'arry's direction. He mouthed, '_What should I do?'_ to the alien.

"See him!" L'arry/Huxley snorted, putting down his paper. "Nothing can interfere with our plans now. All my staff is in place, as you know. I have a ship standing ready in north Wales, to take on the first shipment. Even if there is any danger, my personal body guards are here to ensure that nothing happens to me." He motioned to the outlines of two dark, bulky forms standing motionless in the black shadows at the back of the room. "I doubt this is anything to worry about. Probably just some last minute whinging by one of your high-placed muckity-mucks. Oh, and by the way, could you ask that luscious looking secretary of yours to make us some tea? I'm feeling a bit peckish. Think I may have her for lunch."

"I still don't see how you're going to pull off not getting the world to notice that over a million Briton's have gone missing overnight." The Deputy Prime Minister said, after telling the woman to have the man wait five minutes, and then asking her to make some tea. His face grew ashen at the thought of having to watch his secretary being turned into goo and eaten.

"Your human naivety is so charming sometimes, you know that? But, I must burst your bubble. Sorry. I'm afraid that half the species out there in space think Earth is home to a mob of gormless, badly trained simian off-shoots. And I have to say, after watching Big Brother, Jersey Shore and some of the speeches from your House of Commons, I am rather inclined to agree with that line of thought." L'arry gave a secretive smile. "Trust me. By the time Monday morning rolls around,we'll be long gone, and no one on earth will be any the wiser."

"Oh, I think they will be." A voice said as someone breezed into the room. It was the Doctor. He shrugged out of his long coat and handed it to the secretary. "Especially since the human race will still be here—and so will their moon."

"Sir...I tried to stop him..." Miss Brooks wittered nervously, hovering in the doorway.

Striding over to the desk, the Doctor plopped himself down in a chair placed in front of it, propping his burgundy trainers on the desk top. L'arry had risen from his chair, looking surprised and angry, but far from alarmed. The Deputy Prime Minister just sat there, boggling.

"It—it's alright, Miss Brooks. Though maybe you should hold off on bringing us that tea, for a bit. That will be all, thank you." The man said to his secretary, trying to stay calm.

"Do you mind if I sit down? Busy man, me. Been run off my feet all day. You know, the usual stuff...trying to defuse a bomb, towing a ship away from your moon, uncovering plots of genocide...I'll bet the activities of your shape shifting friend over there will be keeping the Shadow Proclamation busy for a while. They do love their paperwork. Insist on everything being in triple quadruplicate. Let me tell you, just filling out one of their forms is about as much fun as dancing with a Dalek!"

"Who the hell are you?" The Deputy Prime Minister blurted out. Just what he needed. Another mad man in his life. "And kindly remove your feet from my desk!"

"Your desk?" The Doctor puzzled, putting his feet on the floor. "I thought this was the prime minister's office. Whoops. My bad." He smiled at the Deputy Prime Minister, "Hello, I'm the Doctor. Nice office. Very posh. Oooh, are those jelly babies?" He asked, eying the candy dish on the desk, "I used to love jelly babies. Maggie Thatcher would give me a couple of cases of them every Christmas. Since the Tories took over, all I get now is a Chia Pet and a couple of satsumas." The Doctor made a face and gave a '_what can you do?_' shrug. "Although, lots of vitamin C in satsumas. And very good for triggering trap door switches when your enemy is about to cut your head off with a really big sword."

"The Shadow Proclamation are nothing but a mob of anal-retentive old grannies." L'arry sneered.

With a laconic smile, he got up from his chair and strolled over to the Doctor. The alien stood there with his hands in his pockets, leering down at him."You people couldn't catch a cold, let alone someone as clever as myself. We've enough firepower to bring down the whole lot of you in less time than it would take to boil tea. Your Judoon mercenaries are no threat to the Toxil-Maacht!"

The Doctor was ignoring L'arry, reaching over to pick up the candy dish. He pawed through the jelly babies and choose one. Popping it into his mouth, he closed his eyes, relishing the flavour. "Strawberry. My favourite! You know I quite forgot how good these were."

"Excuse me?" L'arry said, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, was I talking while chewing? That was very ill-mannered of me, wasn't it? Sorry." The Doctor said, looking up innocently at the alien and giving him an apologetic grin.

"Do you know this man, Larry?" The Deputy Prime Minister asked.

"Larry!" The Doctor asked, raising an amused eyebrow at the alien. "Well, I see Moe here, but where's Curly? Shouldn't there be three _Stooges_?"

"Actually, it's L'arry." The alien sniffed.

"Oh yeah, right. Cos' that sounds so much more posh than plain old Larry the mosquitoid, doesn't it? Only species in the whole universe to hyphenate their name. But, I gotta' tell you," the Doctor said, his voice dropping down to a more serious tone as he stood up and looked L'arry straight in the eye, "changing your names and acting superior isn't going to impress me. Not by a long chalk. Cos' I know you, Special Procurer L'arry. I know who and what you are, where you live and even what you lot evolved from. You are nothing but kill happy nouveau-insects, masquerading as civilized creatures."

"You go too far, Doctor! Have a care." L'arry fumed. "We can crush the Shadow Proclamation as easily

as we do the rest of our enemies."

"Right. Don't think so. " The Doctor said, shaking his head with disgust. "And I'm not with the Shadow Proclamation."

"Ah. I see. You're not a cop. What are you, then? Enemy spy? Bounty hunter? Torchwood? A secret member of the Fraternal Order of the Truly Hideous Jumpers? You're obviously not human, if you know about the Shadow Proclamation." L'arry said, visibly relaxing. As the Doctor had already guessed, L'arry had been bluffing. No one wanted an all-out fight with the most powerful police force in the universe. "Where are you from?"

The Doctor shifted his feet and looked down at the carpet. For only a moment, his face took on a bittersweet expression. Then, his head came up.

"I'm from Galifrey." He said quietly.

"They have aliens living in Ireland?" A very confused Deputy Prime Minister asked. Both the Doctor and L'arry ignored him.

"But...that's preposterous!" L'arry snorted. "The Time Lords are all dead, in the Last Great Time War. I saw it on the news! The Daleks destroyed Galifrey, taking their own ships with them. I saw the pictures."

"No, I destroyed the Daleks, taking my own planet down with them. Typical half-baked corporate media. Can't be bothered about accuracy. I'll bet the total annihilation of my entire race, came down to some dramatic pictures and a thirty second news story." The Doctor said sadly. He shook his head, sighed, and looked at L'arry with deep, ancient eyes.

That one look put fear into L'arry's face, making the shape shifter who looked like Huxley step back in alarm.

"I'm the last of the Time Lords. And I'm giving you a choice." The Doctor said bitterly. "Leave Earth alone. Take your people and find somewhere else to get supplies from. I can help. You don't need to kill a million innocent humans. Leave now. Get in your ships and go."

"Or what?" L'arry scoffed, regaining his bravado. "One Time Lord against the military might of the Toxil-Maacht? You really think you can stop us? In less than twenty minutes?

"Please. I'm asking you to show some real courage and do the right thing. Find some other alternative. No one need know you were even here." The Doctor said reasonably, even though he knew it was probably useless. He didn't want to hurt anyone, he _had_ to try a peaceable solution.

"And if I don't?" L'arry said, raising an amused eyebrow.

Sheer arrogance was acting like mental earplugs to the Special Procurer. The Doctor sighed inwardly, realizing that L'arry wasn't taking him seriously.

"Then you'll leave me with no choice but to stop you." He answered in a low, determined voice. The Doctor wasn't all that angry at the threats, so much as the fact that the Special Procurer's overconfidence might give leave him with no other alternative, than to destroy the Toxil-Maacht. "You get one warning, and that was it."

"And I'm not giving you any warning at all, Doctor. I think it's time you meet my two bodyguards." L'arry smiled, snapping his fingers.

"We come! We come!" Came two high-pitched child-like voices.

Out of the shadows shuffled two robots. They were short and boxlike, with round heads that had a few spikes coming out of them, like the crystal points of a Christmas star. They stopped in front of the Doctor. A weapon suddenly projected from their robot hands. A short tube which was a laser gun.

"Quarks!" The Doctor muttered, abruptly appearing worried.

"Oh dear! I think this is getting just a little too much for me." The Deputy Prime Minister muttered, wiping his sweating brow with his silk pocket handkerchief.

"Hang on, you two. Let daddy get his vid-vone out before you start shooting. I don't think anyone on my planet has ever seen an actual Time Lord. The stuff of legends, as they say. This will be sure to go viral on the Optiweb! Now, I wonder how many times they'll have to shoot you dead, Doctor, before you stop regenerating, ha-ha?" L'arry chuckled.

"Give orders please!" One of the Quarks demanded shrilly, like an impatient child.

Drawing back a little, the Doctor glanced anxiously from L'arry to the Quarks. He knew there was a better than average chance he wouldn't regenerate at all. But even if he did, the idea of regenerating in quick succession, one body after another, was almost worse than the thought of dying.

"Patience my pets." L'arry muttered, setting up his vid-vone. "Almost ready for you."

"Kill Doctor! We kill! Doctor we Kill!" The two robots chanted, as if they were reciting a particularly perverted nursery rhyme.

"Oh no, you're not!" Donna shouted at the nurse. "Over my dead body! Which it will be, if you give me one of those jabs!"

Hospital staff were instructed by the military to give all patients their mandatory jabs first thing Friday

morning. Donna was having none of it. She was using a rolling tray to block the nurse from coming through the door of the room where Wilf lay in a coma.

"Donna!" Her mum said, not understanding her daughter's protests, "Surely you can't be against anything that might help your granddad get better?"

"Mum. Leave it. I know what I'm doing." Donna told her through gritted teeth, still barring the nurse from the doorway.

"That'll be the day." Sylvia muttered crossly, shaking her head in anger at her daughter's sudden objections to Wilf's treatments.

"Sorry miss," said the flustered young male nurse, "it's orders, see? Mandatory injections this morning, starting with the intensive care wards. I'm afraid if you don't let me in there, I'll have to call security."

"Why does everyone keep calling me '_miss_'?" Donna stopped to ponder out loud. "Do I like, have this this sign stuck to my back saying, 'She's Available'?"

"Oh, not now, Donna!" Her mum said to her.

Just then, two stern-faced soldiers dressed in combat fatigues got out of the lift down the hall. They were carrying machine guns. The marched side-by-side down the hall and came to stand behind the nurse.

"Er—sorry to bother you gentlemen, but this woman won't let me in to give the patient his injection." The nurse said nervously, clearly taken aback by the soldier's presence. .

"Soldiers with machine guns?" Sylvia said to the nurse, staring at the two soldiers in disbelief, "In a British hospital? What is going on?"

"Why aren't you two in the injection queue in the basement?" One of the soldiers asked gruffly, ignoring Sylvia's comment.

"We're not getting' any of your bloomin' jabs, soldier boy. And furthermore," huffed Donna defiantly, "neither is my granddad."

"If you don't do as ordered, you'll be taken to the injection centre and held there until you comply." The soldier told her.

"Not in this lifetime, sunshine!" Donna told him. "Listen, all of you, these injections aren't what you think! Please, you have to believe me. Millions of people's lives are in danger. We're all gonna' die!"

"Really, miss, erm—madam." The nurse said, clearly thinking Donna had just gone off the deep end of the madhouse pool, "there is nothing to fear, I promise you. No one is going to die. In fact, just the opposite. This will save lives. The Deputy Prime Minister was on the news last night. He said these injections will stop the virus in its tracks."

"And you believe a politician in this day and age? How thick are you?" Donna snorted.

Without warning, one of the soldiers snatched away the rolling tray Donna was using to block the doorway. The two of them quickly grabbed Donna by the arms, dragging her bodily away from Wilf's room.

"Let go of me! A million innocent people are about to die, and you could stop it. Instead, you're threatening women and old people with machine guns? Brave lot you are." Donna yelled, as they dragged her, kicking and struggling towards the lift.

"Shut yer gob!" A soldier snarled at her, giving Donna a rough shove. "Keep moving!"

"Just give me one good chance to kick you where you live matey, that's all I ask!" Donna fumed, "You two-legged pile of sheep dung!"

"What are you doing? Stop! Don't hurt her! Donna!" A distraught Sylvia called out to her daughter.

"Mum! Whatever happens, don't let them give Wilf any injections!" Donna called back to her mum. "And don't you get any, either. You have to trust me! It's not what it seems! You'll die if they give you one of those jabs. You have to believe me!"

"Where are you taking my daughter?" Sylvia called out to the soldiers, as they stood waiting for the lift doors to open.

"We're taking her to get her jabs." The soldier who'd spoken before, said. "And don't you worry, missus." He gave her a nasty grin as they shoved a still-protesting Donna into the lift, "We'll make sure this one gets to the head of the queue."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

L'arry was definitely gloating. Holding his vid-vone out in front of him, he grinned with delight. The alien had morphed back into his real body. In a dramatic voice, the buzzing only just discernible, L'arry was narrating to his future audience the pending act of violence. The Doctor's breathing had quickened, his eyes were on the Quarks, steeling himself for the inevitable. L'arry opened his mouth to order the Quarks to shoot the Doctor.

That's when the alien abruptly realized something. The lighting was too dim. All he was getting on his vone screen were indistinct outlines and shadows.

"Bloody hell and damnation!" An irate L'arry cursed out loud. "Stupid humans can't even produce decent indoor lighting." He looked over at the Deputy Prime Minister. "Can't you do something about the lights in here?"

In response, the Deputy Prime Minister merely buried his head in his hands and groaned miserably. "I picked one helluva' time to give up smoking." He mumbled.

The Doctor cocked an eyebrow at the fuming mosquitoid.

"Oh dear. So hard to get good help these days, isn't it, _Larry_?" He said, deliberately mis-pronouncing the Special Procurer's name.

"It's L'arry, you...oh never mind!" He snarked at the Doctor, while waving two of his appendages in disgust at the Deputy Prime Minister. "Humans! I have no idea what the gods were thinking when they made you lot. Can't you see I need light to film this death scene? Must I do everything myself these days?"

"Erm—" Said the Deputy Prime Minister, cringing. "The light switch is over by the door?"

L'arry's insect head looked up at the ceiling. He let out what sounded very much like a long, martyred sigh. "That lot back home believe this job is all about exotic travel, lunch with the rich and powerful and dirty weekends with my secretary. Ha! If they only knew! Stuck on some cesspool of a planet, working with a mob of genetically cretinous misfits." He sighed again, giving a human-like shrug. "Well, I suppose that's what I get paid the big credits for."

"Look, mate, if I'm to be kept standing here waiting, the very least you could do is give me some direction. You know, '_stand there with your arms raised and look really scared_'. The Doctor said, slipping on a pair of sunglasses and affecting the airs of a celebrity. "I don't want to be shot looking like one of those dummies in Hendrik's shop windows. And lines! I need lines! Not the usual stuff, like, '_No wait! I'm too young to die!_' I mean, something more dramatic, something to make my audience cry buckets of tears. Furthermore, you're supposed to say, '_cut' _when you stop filming. Some director you are!" The Doctor sniffed. "Don't be expecting any BAFTA nominations, if this is the shoddy way you do things."

"Oh, do shut up!" L'arry buzzed angrily. The mosquitoid stalked over to the light switch. "Everyone's a critic these days."

"Where's my makeup man? Someone get my my agent on the phone. And why isn't anyone getting me a cappuccino?" The Doctor whinged, carrying on with his act for no other reason than to annoy L'arry.

One of L'arry's appendages flicked all the lights on. He held up the vid-vone and pointed at the quarks, checking the lighting levels. The Doctor was stood there with his arms folded across his chest, a bored, pouty look on his face. Surreptitiously though, his fingers were slowly inching towards his suit pocket.

If the nurse had found Donna a formidable guardian of Wilf's bedside, Sylvia was more so. It was her dad she was protecting.

"You're not giving my dad any jabs today!" Sylvia told the nurse.

"Please! Just let me do my job!" The frustrated nurse replied. "They'll sack me if I don't. I'll end up working in some dodgy care home."

"What are you going to do?" She asked, "Call back your soldiers and have them machine gun me down? Well, go on then, do it. I'll protect my dad with my life, if I have to."

"I'm telling you, Mrs. Noble, there's nothing wrong with these injections." The nurse insisted, "They're perfectly safe!"

"And I'm telling you, my daughter says they're not. And I believe her!"

"Has your daughter been taking any medications?" The nurse tactlessly asked.

"What? What are you on about?" a confused Sylvia said. Then the penny dropped, about the same time as her jaw. "Are you implying that my Donna suffers from mental illness?"

"Er—look, Mrs. Noble," The nurse said, deciding that a change of course in the direction of the conversation was in order,. "I'm sure the injections are perfectly safe. They wouldn't give them if they weren't."

"Have you had yours, yet?" Sylvia challenged.

"Well, no..." The nurse admitted.

"Then how do you know?" Sylvia insisted. Then she had an idea. "Tell you what." She smiled, "This is getting us nowhere. Why don't you go downstairs and get your jab. Then if there's no problems, I'll gladly let you give my dad his injection. You can even do me, while you're at it. I promise. No more objections from any of us."

"Alright, alright, Mrs. Noble. You win..." Turning away in defeat towards the lift, the nurse cautioned, "But I'll be back as soon as I'm done to give you _both _your injections!"

Watching the nurse get into the lift, Sylvia bit her lip, suddenly feeling anxious and afraid. Had she done the right thing? Would Donna be alright?

In the NHS injection centre in the basement of the hospital, a long queue of staff and patients snaked down the spartan hallway and around the corner. Around that same corner came the two soldiers, dragging a loudly protesting Donna along with them. They hauled her past all the people in the queue, some of them giving the soldiers curious, fearful or angry looks. Others seemed relieved simply to have something new to stare at, besides the backs of the those in front of them.

At the door to the site, stood a doctor in his white coat and tie, and a woman in dark dress suit. The doctor looked up from the clipboard he was reading, frowning at the two soldiers. His name tag on the white coat said, "Dr Singh.'

"Why isn't this woman going to the back of the queue?" He asked them.

"Special case!" One of the soldiers grinned. "We're giving this one special VIP treatment this morning. Ain't we mate?" He asked his fellow soldier.

The other soldier nodded, leering down at Donna. She stuck her tongue out at him.

"I'd like to make a special case out of you, you pair of Rambo rejects. You're both gonna' need a specialist by the time I get through with you!" She snapped, still struggling. She wasn't about to become insect food if she could help it. "I'm telling you, it's not safe. You're all going to die!"

Dr. Singh looked taken aback by Donna's outburst. The woman in the suit merely gave Donna a cool, appraising glance. She was, in actual fact, a shape-shifting female mosquitoid named 'Ashlee.'

"Looks like we have your first jab candidate, Dr. Singh." Ashlee spoke crisply. " How long before your staff is ready?"

"Two minutes." Dr. Singh told her, after consulting his watch.

"Don't worry dear." Ashlee said to Donna, giving her a knowing smile. "It will happen so fast, you'll barely feel a thing."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Standing near the head of the hospital's queue, Maureen and her two boys waited. The children were growing restive. Her youngest, ten year old Danny, had been watching Donna and the two soldiers.

"Mum?" a wide-eyed Danny asked, tugging on the bottom of her jumper, "Are we really gonna' die if we take our jabs?"

"Don't be daft, Danny!" His brother, Keith said, not bothering to look up from the video game player he held in his hand. "She's gone mad. Like Great-Aunt Laurie. That's why them soldiers gotta' restrain her."

"Keith! Auntie Laurie is not mad! Don't you even think such a thing!" Maureen shot a glance in Donna's direction, and lowered her voice. "She's got Alzheimer's. Really, I don't know where you come up with these ideas. And it's_ those_ soldiers, not 'them soldiers'. For heaven's sake! Speak proper English! Do try not to act like some illiterate yob when you're out with me in public."

"But mum? _Are_ we all gonna' die?" Danny persisted in asking, casting another fearful glance at the soldiers. "Is dad OK? Where is he?"

"No, dear. We're all going to be just fine." She reassured him with a smile. "I'm sure your dad and his...his girlfriend..." she still couldn't bring herself to call her ex's very young future wife by her name, "...are standing in a queue right now, just like us. No worries."

"I miss gran." Her youngest said miserably, hanging his head.

"I don't. She smelled minging. Like mothballs and pee. Bleh!" Keith muttered under his breath. He was upset at being told off in front of everyone, and was pretending to concentrate on his game.

"Keith! One more word out of you, young man, and I'll take away that game. Right now. And you won't be getting it back for a whole month." His mum scolded him. Keith frowned at his player and decided to pretend he didn't hear her.

Danny looked miserable and scared, ready to cry. Their gran had passed away suddenly during the night. Which is why Maureen had brought them so early to the injection centre. She wasn't going to lose any other family members to the London Flu.

"I know you miss your gran, sweetheart, I know. So do I." Maureen said, wrapping her arms around her youngest son and hugging him to her.

"..._All over London and other parts of the nation, tens of thousands of people are queuing up for their government mandated injections. There are reports that many of the injection centres are having difficulties handling the overflow, as NHS staff are stretched to their limits. Some members of the public have expressed their concern that patient care could suffer as a result. The NHS has tried to reassure them that hospitals are adequately staffed, and that all patients in their care will also be getting injections today. Business owners have sent letters and e-mails of protest to their local MP's, citing the huge economic impact of having to shut their doors for an entire weekend, while the country is still struggling to recover from the recent global recession. Our BBC correspondent John Harstahl has been visiting hospitals in London this morning, and has this report for us_..."

Ed Marshbender shut off the television, as his partner, Dai, looked for the car keys. He tended to mislay them with tiring regularity. Ed rolled his eyes, and ducked his head into the kitchen. There they were, lying on top of the microwave.

"Ready to go?" He asked Dai, holding up the keys and jingling them in his hand.

"Not really. God, I hate needles. Always have done. Ever since I was a kid." Dai responded reluctantly, giving a half-hearted shrug.

"Yes, I know." Ed said, hugging Dai and giving him a peck on the cheek. "And I hate like hell to be stuck in long queues. We make quite the pair, don't we?"

"Oh yes." Dai said, giving Ed a cheeky smile, followed by a passionate kiss. He looked upstairs, where the bedroom was. "To hell with it! Maybe we can go tomorrow, when it'll be less crowded?"

"I don't know, Dai." Ed said, shaking his head. "It's like taking off a sticking plaster. I say, just let her rip and have done with it." Then Ed too, looked longingly towards the top of the staircase. He looked at Dai with a suggestive grin, "Although, nothing says we have to go right this minute. A few hours more or less, won't kill us."

In the hospital basement, one of the soldiers was holding down a kicking and shouting Donna. The soldier looked at the clock on the wall. It read one minute to the start time. Hoping Donna wouldn't bite him, he rolled his eyes and thought that it was one minute too long. Dr. Singh never noticed Donna's loud protests. He was preoccupied, under Ashlee's close supervision, with making last minute preparations in an area discreetly screened off from prying eyes.

"You know what you are supposed to do?" Ashlee asked him, bringing out a device similar to a i-pod and pressing a button on it. A green light began flashing. "You understand your instructions?"

"Yes." Singh said woodenly, his eyes staring blankly and body suddenly stiffening. "I give injections then allow the fluid to be pumped into the storage containers." Days ago, Ashlee had kidnapped Singh and subjugated his mind to accept what he was about to do.

He was stood, waiting, in a curtained off alcove. A tray containing hundreds of vials of the Toxil-Maacht's organic distillation fluid was beside him, and an injection gun was gripped in his right hand. Ashlee nodded and left the alcove. She hovered in the doorway, gloating, watching the people in the queue lining up like earth cattle in a slaughter pen. These humans were so easily manipulated. L'arry was right to choose this planet.

In the alcove, under a chair, was a collection trough. It was connected to a pump and siphon unit, which fed into a series of metal drums lining the walls behind the curtained off area. Ashlee watched with satisfaction as a grinning soldier bodily dragged the first human past her, that loud ginger-haired woman, to the abattoir .

Inside the Prime Minister's office in Downing Street, the Doctor stood with his arms folded, his fingers creeping towards his pocket. He'd just gotten them around the tip of his sonic screwdriver, when L'arry announced that he was ready to film the Doctor's deaths.

"Oh dear!" The Deputy Prime Minister whimpered, giving a nervous gulp. He ducked down under his desk. "I just realized. I'm in the line of fire!."

L'arry gestured to the Quarks, ignoring the Deputy Prime Minister. "To arms!" He called out to them, one of his appendages training his camera vone back and forth between the Quark's weapon arms and the Doctor's face. "And...fire your weapons! Kill him!"

The Doctor, in one graceful movement, turned his body to the side and his arm shot up. In a quick draw which he learned from an old mate of his, named Gene Autry, the Doctor brought his sonic screwdriver to bear on the Quarks. The tip glowed blue and it gave a warbling buzz. The Quark's aim wobbled, as their bodies began shaking. Twin laser beams drilled holes in ceiling and carpet, respectively. In seconds, the Quarks were laid out on the floor, completely deactivated.

"What?" L'arry shouted in disbelief. "No!" His insectoid eyes glowered at the Doctor. "Do you know how expensive those were? I should sue you for compensation."

The Deputy Prime Minister's curiosity got the better of him. From the floor, his eyes peeped out over the desk top. "Is it safe to come out now?" The man muttered, confusion and fear muddling his features.

"I warned you." The Doctor said in a low, solemn, almost sad voice. While his body language wasn't threatening, something in his eyes abruptly made L'arry go all cold inside and shudder. "Last chance, L'arry. Leave this planet and its people alone. Give me the antidote for the virus you've been spreading around the cities. Then go home. Find somewhere else to get your food supplies from."

"Your last chance maybe, Doctor." Larry snarled. He drew a compact laser derringer from a hiding place on his body. "You gambled on my giving in to your threats, and you lost. Threats are nothing to me. I simply kill off the competition...and just for the aggravation you've caused me, when I'm done here, I'll wipe out all life on this backwater of a planet. I like a little target practice, now and again."

"I don't make threats." The Doctor said coldly. "I make promises." His expression became ancient, tired. "I tried to give you a way out. And I'm sorry. But I can't let you butcher billions of people. You made me do this."

As the mosquitoid brought his laser derringer to bear, the Doctor's sonic once again came up, this time pointed at the ceiling. The sonic gave off a whine that was so high-pitched, the Deputy Prime Minister could barely hear it. However, the green glass shade of his desk lamp suddenly shattered, as did all the glass in the picture frames on the desk and panes of glass in the windows. Likewise, the Deputy Prime Minister could hear glass shattering all throughout the building

L'arry's face went from smug to fearful in a split second. The laser derringer dropped to the floor. His tube-like mouth began to dribble green ooze. The body started to change back and forth between its insectoid and human forms, flicking like a moving picture image. Then, it changed permanently back to his natural form. As the sonic continued it's whine, L'arry raised his head gave an anguished cry. Hairline cracks slowly began appearing throughout his body. Yellow goo began spilling from the cracks. Dropping to the floor, L'arry convulsed a few times. He lay still for a few moments, before his body disintegrated into the carpet.

Many miles away, parked on the seabed off the coast of East Anglia, were two small, triangular shaped Toxil-Maacht spaceships. Without warning, they both exploded. The blasts sent twin towers of water high into the air, causing a mini-Tsunami. It swamped beaches and flooded some streets in seaside towns. A freighter, this one an independent line like Captain Blite's ship, lay parked just a few thousand light years from the Milky Way. It's pitted, dark and ponderous hull was a dull counterpoint to the brilliance of the star field. Upon registering the destruction of the two ships, it turned around and headed home.

The Doctor, his expression both terrible and tragic, looked down at the few remains of L'arry, now merely a dark stain upon the office carpet. "Why will they never listen?" he whispered hoarsely, before turning away.

"Is...is he—I mean it, dead?" The Deputy Prime Minister's trembling voice came from beneath his desk.

"Yeah.." The Doctor said tiredly, rubbing his forehead "It's safe to come out now."

"What did you do?" The man asked, pulling himself up off the floor and plonking himself down on the desk chair.

"Erm—once again I've defended Great Britain from an alien menace. And single-handedly saved some double glazing firm from going out of business." the Doctor told him casually, looking around at the shards of broken glass strewn about the floor, "Apparently."

"And put me out of a job, most likely." The Deputy Prime Minister grumbled, heaving a big sigh of defeat.

"As my friend Henry once said to me, when I accidentally fell out of his canoe into Walden Pond, "Them's the breaks." The Doctor shrugged.

"All that money and enormous resources spent on those damned injection centres." The Deputy Prime Minister shook his head gloomily. "Those people in charge of the NHS won't be happy with me. Not by a long chalk. I'll never hear the end of it. Not to mention that Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart will rake me over the coals for this. U.N.I.T. will come down on me like tonnes of bricks, for failing to notify them of an alien presence in Downing Street. I think now would be an excellent time for me to put in for an early retirement. In the Canary Islands."

The Doctor didn't deign to comment on the plight of the Deputy Prime Minister, but pocketed his sonic and turned his back. His narrowed eyes and disgusted look spoke volumes, though.

The soldier dragged Donna towards the alcove and was about to part the curtains. Without warning, Ashlee gasped and her body drew inwards. She gave a frightened, strangled cry. Behind the curtains, Dr. Singh began shaking his head in confusion. He dropped the syringe and his eyes and body posture returned to normal. Then, he heard the woman in charge call out as if she were in great pain. Poking his head through the alcove's curtain, Dr. Singh's mouth dropped open with shock.

Ashlee's human body had disappeared! Her mosquitoid form took its place, as she writhed on the floor and screamed. Like L'arry, her body split, and she began to drool from her mouth and ooze yellow globs from her mid-section. Then, Ashlee exploded, showering Singh's face, Donna, the two soldiers and several people in the queue with her liquidized viscera.

As soon as Ashlee burst apart, Donna seized the opportunity. She promptly kneed the distracted

soldier in the groin. "That's for not knowing how to treat a lady properly, mate." She growled at him, as he doubled over, gasping. Dropping his machine gun, still staring at what was left of Ashlee, he let go of her arm.

Some people near the head of the queue who saw what happened to Ashley, screamed in fear as soon as they got over their initial shock. They backed away, bumping into the puzzled and alarmed people directly behind them.

Young Keith grinned with delight at the sudden turn of events and exclaimed, "Wow! An exploding alien. That's so cool!" He gave his mum a pouting look and crossed his arms.. "And you wouldn't let me bring my mobile. I could've taken pictures and posted them on MePics. It would've gone viral. I'd of been the most popular kid in high school."

"Mum let me keep mine. Now _I'll_ be the most popular kid in _my_ school." His brother Danny smiled, holding up his camera-phone, showing pictures of Ashlee's demise.

Grimacing at the gore on her body, Donna silently vowed to herself that the Doctor was going to take her for a nice spa treatment after this. But, first things first. There was still a danger that these people might go through with the injections, in spite of everything. It was the NHS, after all.

Donna came bounding out of the doorway, yelling, "Everyone, listen to me! These injections really will kill you. Get out of here! Now! Run!"

She didn't have to tell those at the head of the queue twice. They fled down the corridor in terror of exploding alien mosquitoes. Their panic became infectious, and almost everyone else, not even knowing what they were running from, joined them.

Sylvia was standing at Wilf's bedside. She looked up, startled, as the nurse came dashing breathlessly into the room.

"Your—your daughter." The pale faced nurse said, voice trembling, "She was right. About the injections. I'm sorry."

"I'm not." Sylvia smiled. "Of course she was right. She's my daughter."

A few minutes later, a breathless Donna got off the lift and ran down the hall to Wilf's room. She skidded through the doorway, a fearful expression on her face.

"Gramps?" She asked, looking at her mum. "They didn't...?"

"No. He's just as he was, no change in condition." Sylvia answered. Then she folded her arms and gave Donna a stern look. "And who do you think you are, miss? Running down hospital hallways like some wild Indian? Aren't you getting a little old for that sort of thing?"

"Old!" Donna sputtered, her mouth agape. "Who're you calling..."

Just then, the Doctor, hands in his pockets, came cheerfully breezing into the room.

"Oh. Now you turn up? After I almost get turned into mosquito food?" Donna asked, turning her indignation on him.

"Argh!" He rolled his eyes, "What? No 'hello Doctor'? 'No, 'thanks for once again saving the day'? It's almost like having your mum in the room!" Then he noticed Sylvia standing there, giving him the same look she'd given Donna. "Oh. Erm—hello Mrs. Noble."

"It's you!" She sniffed. "What are you doing here?"

"Where've you been, then?" Donna demanded of him.

The Doctor was clearly unhappy with the mother-daughter tag team approach. He muttered something under his breath about human domestic scenes.

"Yes, it's me. Hello! I'm here to help Wilf, Mrs. Noble. And a few thousand other humans. As to where I've been, Donna, I've just spent the last three years petitioning the Shadow Proclamation to force the Toxil-Maacht to hand over the virus antidote in exchange for temporary diplomatic immunity. I was stood two years and three-hundred and forty-seven days and fifteen hours just standing in queues and filling out paperwork. Three days ago, the Judoon show up on the Toxil-Maacht's doorstep with an ultimatum. Their Father Superior and the Toxil-Maacht Grand Assembly had to agree, of course. Even they don't want to mess with four million angry Judoon. So here I am." He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. "With a cure. The Doctor is in. _Molto-bene_!

Later that day, Sylvia was stood at Wilf's bedside, watching him eat some hot soup. Sylvia looked happier than she had in a long time. She'd even stopped nagging! In between sips, Wilf, who was still very weak, motioned over to the Doctor. He came to the bedside and bent down by the old man's face, so Wilf wouldn't have to strain to be heard.

"It was them aliens again, wasn't it Doctor?" He whispered weakly.

Straightening up, the Doctor looked down at Wilf. He grinned, nodded, and gave him a knowing wink. Sylvia came along and ordered Wilf to take more soup. The Doctor quietly backed away, a slightly sad smile playing on his lips as he watched Wilf's family gathered around him. A few minutes later, Donna noticed the Doctor standing back in the corner. She sensed he felt a little out of place. Going over to him, she took his hand and, reaching up, gave him a peck on the cheek.

"Thank you, Doctor." Donna whispered.

"Yeah." He nodded.

"Don't your feet hurt?" She asked, out of the blue.

"What?" He said, giving her a puzzled look.

"Standing in queues for three years?" Donna said, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, that's nothing." He shrugged. "You should see the queues for the Intergalactic Space Transport Department! You _can_ actually die of old age there, waiting to register your space vehicle!"


End file.
